


A Hellish Alchemy

by iwtv



Series: A Hellish Alchemy [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dark!Thomas, Emotional Trauma, Escape, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I wrote this a while ago, Implied Torture, M/M, More tags added as I go, Period-Typical Homophobia, Rescues, Reunions, Slavery, Smut, Tenderness, being held prisoner, canon divergence after 2 10, pirate raids, so sorry if some tags are inaccurate or i leave something major out, talk of buried treasure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-07-11 17:17:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 76,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7062133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwtv/pseuds/iwtv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even after fate gives them a second chance, James and Thomas must still fight to survive and hold on to each other in a world created from the ashes of the life they once knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is MASSIVE, one I wrote during season 2 but for some reason didn't have enough confidence to post anywhere. Fair warning- This is (or will be) a full-blown Black Sails story with a bit of everything so if you're looking for a quickie, best to move on. It is finished however so I'll be posting regular updates. :)))
> 
>  
> 
> For more Sails visit my tumblr at iwtv2007.tumblr.com <3

Portsmouth, England

Late 1705

 

James McGraw leaned a bare arm against the light blue wall and stared out the window to the bustling docks beyond. Weak morning sunlight filtered in through the room. He looked down again at the thing he flipped over in his hands, distracted.

“What are you doing? Come back to bed,” said a voice from behind him, full of sleep.

“Have you seen the view from up here?” James asked. “The docks are brilliant looking.”

The bed sheets shuffled softly behind him as Thomas rose and padded across the floor. A moment later James felt arms slide effortlessly over his sides and come to rest around his waist. Thomas's bare chest and stomach pressed up against his back and his chin rested on James's shoulder.

“It *is* quite grand,” said Thomas in his ear.

James let out a contented sigh and leaned against him, closing his eyes. His fingers however kept fidgeting with the small round thing, eyes finally opening and looking down at it. He felt Thomas watching him. He’d not shown the piece to him yet.

“What is that?” Thomas asked, still from behind.

James held the coin still and lifted it up, pinching it between an index finger and thumb. Thomas took it.

“A gold escudo,” Thomas said with surprise.

“Admiral Hennessy gave it to me before we departed for Portsmouth. He was unusually drunk and trying not to show it,” mused James. Thomas smirked.

“He said it is an exact replica of one of the first gold coins ever made, from the treasure of the Spanish conquistador Antonio de Mendoza.”

Thomas spun the coin around in the light coming through the window, studying the small Jerusalem cross on its back.

“Mendoza, wasn’t he a rival to none other than Cortez?” asked Thomas.

James nodded. “He was. They appointed him first viceroy of New Spain under Charles the First’s rule. Hennessy said that it was Mendoza who had a stash of Spanish gold hidden away, not Cortez, as everyone believes. He was so frightened of the coming Indian insurrection that he hoarded it all and hid it.”

“And did Mendoza survive this insurrection?”

“He did.”

“And the gold?”

James turned to face him. Thomas offered him the coin back. James took it and laid it on the window sill.

“You know as well as I no one really knows what happened to it.”

Thomas nodded. James leaned up against the wall, away from the window and back into the shadows of the inn room, taking hold of Thomas's bare thighs and pulling him close. Thomas licked his lips, a shadow not of the sun’s making playing across his face.

“Today is our last day together before you leave for Nassau,” he said. “I don’t want you to go.”

James laughed softly through his nose, hands still gripping his thighs. “Don’t be silly. Of course you do. We both want this.”

“I know. It’s childish,” Thomas admitted. “But I had a dream last night and now I’m worried.”

Thomas traced the contours of James's well muscled stomach with a finger, looking contritely up at him.

“Was was this dream about?” asked James.

“The memory of it is already fading, but I dreamt you were at sea, dressed in all your navy finery and devilishly handsome as always. Then you were attacked by pirates and they took you away.”

James gave him a lop-sided grin and gripped the back of his neck.

“That won’t happen.”

“But it will be dangerous. Dangerous because of the pirates.”

“It will. But Hennessy’s crews are among the best, and so are his ships. I’ve had to battle pirates before. I’ll be fine. And I’ll come back to you, I promise.”

James gave him a reassuring kiss.

“Very well then,” said Thomas. “I will believe you. Now come back to bed.”

Thomas pulled his hand and James left the wall and followed him to the bed, leaving the gold coin on the sill. Half of it lay in the sunlight, glinting brilliantly while the other half remained covered in shadow.

___________________

"A tortured soul have I become  
It keeps me safe and leaves me numb  
'Cause in this dream I'm wide awake  
The one I love I did forsake  
I wish that I was wrong, that you'll come home again  
All this time I've lost, I'll never find again"*

\---------------

Eastwood Plantation

Virginia, 1716

 

Lord Thaddeus Kinnmore curled his fingers over his lips, an index finger against his nose as he studied the man standing before him in his study.

He was of fair complexion and slightly tall, with equally fair hair and blue eyes. A pure Anglo-Saxton, perhaps. The asylum had been less kind on his clothing than his physical features, however, and he was dirty with a stubble beard. He stared over Lord Kinnmore’s head, waiting patiently for the lord to speak, which he finally did.

“The letter I received states that you are born of noble blood and that you are, in fact, the only son of the late Earl Alfred Hamilton. Is that correct?”

“Yes sir, it is.”

“Hmm.”

Lord Kinnmore shifted in his high leather-backed chair.

“It seems to me very uncommon that a lord whose family has such political connections would be thrown into the royal hospital on the whims of an angry father, yes?”

The yellow-haired man’s chest fell heavily.

“Yes sir,” he replied. “I suppose it is.”

Kinnmore watched as the man seemed to squirm uncomfortably yet never moved. Kinnmore took that as a sign.

“Do you know what my father taught me, Mr. Hamilton?”

“What is that, sir?”

“He taught me to always trust the movement of a person’s eyes. Yours darted around just now when I began to question your father and your story. That tells me that however unlikely it may be that you’re a lord, there may be some truth to the tale Lord Peter Ashe wrote about before his untimely death. I will take you under my employment, but you must earn your way into this house as a servant. I can’t have people believing that Lord Kinnmore will accept just anyone onto his property, all willy-nilly. So, you will train with the field hands first. Then we shall see if I can trust you further. Is that understood?”

Thomas Hamilton met Lord Kinnmore with a steady gaze.

“Yes sir, and thank you.”

 

Thomas was taken outside and onto Lord Kinnmore’s expansive property, most of which was flat and green and filled with both tobacco being planted and slaves to do the planting. He passed down a trim path between two smaller, rectangular buildings. His guide, Mr. Tommlin, explained that these were guest houses, or for “whatever it is that his lordship wishes to put in them.” The buildings were made of brick. Thomas figured that Kinnmore must have been one of the wealthier plantation owners since brick was the latest architectural fashion and the most expensive.

They continued down the path until it split into two directions, left and right, around the actual tobacco fields. Thomas was surprised to see how like a small town the place seemed to run. Tommlin pointed out the storehouses and smokehouses and their purposes and the blacksmith’s building and the millhouse and finally, set far into the back of the land were rows of slave houses where the slaves did little more than sleep. He also explained the daily schedule to Thomas. As soon as it was sunup the field hands were expected to be up and ready to work after breakfast. Work continued until three which was the hottest part of the day in the summer months. After an hour rest and lunch work then went on until sunset.

Tommlin told Thomas in no uncertain terms that he would be rooming with the slaves.

“Sorry chap, but until his lordship says until you’re a proper servant, you’ve got to be with the animals.”

“These slaves are not animals, they are men,” Thomas replied. Tommlin had given him a funny look, his upper lip curling. After that Tommlin was very curt with Thomas and brusquely walked him over to two slaves in particular. It was a man and a woman, bent over and covered in sweat as they planted a row of tobacco seeds.

“You two dogs, listen up,” Tommlin said, almost barking at them like a dog himself. Thomas winced. He did not like this man. He imagined, briefly, what would happen if he were to punch Tommlin-dog in the face. It would feel quite satisfying. Then the other overseers would rush over and probably punch him.

Thomas hardly cared one way or the other. It wasn’t as though he had anything to look forward to. His old life was in tatters and this new life wasn’t shaping up to be much better.

Instead of punching Tommlin-dog he turned his attention to the two slaves he was addressing. They had both stopped working and stood stiffly while Tommlin-dog introduced Thomas. He did not introduce the slaves. Thomas was almost certain he had no clue what their names were.

“Show him the routine,” Tommlin was saying, spitting a dark brown substance to the ground. Thomas smirked. The very same substance he would now be producing.

“And show him proper,” said Tommlin. “Or I’ll skin your hides. He sleeps in number three, where that old bugger Samuel slept. Now get to it!”

Tommlin sneered at Thomas and nodded for him to join the other two in the field. Wordlessly the black man reached into the large burlap pouch slung over his shoulder and pulled out a thick handful of seeds, motioning for Thomas to take them. Thomas cupped both his hands.

“No,” said the black man. “One hand for seeds, the other so you can cover them.”

He spoke in a heavy but very clear African accent. His voice was deep and somehow impressive to Thomas. His skin was as dark as the soil they stood in and his head was shaved, save for a strip of wiry hair that ran along the back of his scalp in a very peculiar pattern. He and the woman next to him wore clothes even plainer than Thomas's, and it was clear they had been wearing them for some time. Thomas accepted the gift of seeds into his hand.

“Watch,” said the man. He stepped to the row behind the one the woman planted in and bent down. He poked his fingers in the dirt where the ground had already been disturbed and dug a small hole. He put three seeds in and covered it. He then scooted sideways and repeated the motion, then again. Thomas saw he seemed to be spacing the seeds exactly the same distance apart. The woman did the same.

“Seems easy enough,” said Thomas. The man looked up at him and gave a toothy grin.

“It is not the difficulty you need to worry about. It is the labor. Eleven hours each day, six days a week. Your back will scream for weeks on end.”

Thomas tried not to frown at that. The man stood and offered Thomas his hand. Thomas took it.

“I am Lionel, and this is my wife Sarah.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Thomas. He nodded down to Sarah, who barely looked up from her planting. She threw Thomas a stern look and flicked her hand at him as though dismissing him.

“Pah. Another white one. And skin so smooth and silk-like. He will look as old and leathery as Samuel before da week is out.”

Lionel laughed heartily and slapped Thomas on the back.

“As I said, that is my wife Sarah. She will warm to you in time.”

Sarah threw her husband a disapproving glance and flicked her wrist at him.

“Pah. Get back to work before they see you, gabbing away like a baboon.”

Thomas relaxed a little. Sarah meant him no ill will; it was just her personality. He even exchanged a smirk with Lionel as they bent back over the dirt. Lionel pointed to the row behind him so Thomas could start planting. They fell silent as an overseer walked by them on one of the many paths that had been stamped out next to each section of planting soil. He eyed them all sharply, including Thomas, as he passed by, rifle thrown over his shoulder.

“Dat one we call Bill Bullocks,” whispered Lionel as soon as the overseer was out of earshot. “He wears the hat because he is already bald, even though he is not yet forty. He hates it when any of us talk to one another for any reason. Dat is why it is so quiet when he is on duty.”

“And why do you call him Bill Bullocks?” asked Thomas.

“Because his head is round and shiny with a dent through da middle,” said Sarah in front of them. “It looks like an ass.”

A slow smile spread across Thomas's face. Lionel struggled not to laugh out loud. Thomas glanced up to see the ghost of a smile on Sarah’s face.

Perhaps, he thought, this new life would at least be a tolerable one compared to the darkness he’d emerged from.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

The next few months proved to be difficult. As Lionel had said, the physical labor he was not used to proved to be brutal on his back. At first he had stood up and stretched at the end of every row he had planted, arching his back in hopes that it would give some relief. However after the first four weeks had passed, the shooting, burning pain only grew. Yet the overseers would yell at him if they saw him not working. One day he got so incensed with them he almost yelled back. Lionel had been watching him and had grabbed his arm, stopping him.

“Sarah can help you,” he’d said.

Sarah, as it turned out, was the one most of the slaves came to for their aches and pains. Though she was not a healer or even well learned in medicine she nevertheless had a way with her hands. Backaches, muscle cramps, belly aches—all could be soothed and massaged away under her palms. She knew how and where to squeeze on muscle so that it relaxed and became wondrously pliant under her touch. She massaged Thomas's back one evening as he lay on his straw-covered board that was supposed to be a bed. He moaned and groaned at first, but soon Sarah’s hands were working miracles.

“Dis will not last long,” she warned him. “But it will let you sleep.”

“It feels damn fantastic,” said Thomas as her fingers rubbed against the lines of his shoulder blades, then down his back and to the base of his spine, where all his pain seemed to be coming from.

“You should get wages for this,” he told her.

“Pah,” Sarah had said. Thomas had smirked, knowing what her expression must be. “I should get paid for putting up with spineless white boys,” she said.

That prompted Thomas to inquire about the other white man he kept hearing about, old Samuel. Lionel told him that Samuel had been in a penal colony once. He’d contracted and survived smallpox but the disease had left him too weak to carry out his duty there so Lord Kinnmore, having just lost some field hands to death, had contracted him to work in the tobacco fields.

“Old Samuel was promised a monthly stipend to send to his wife and child,” Lionel said. “And he was paid it. Kinnmore promised him he would be free to be with his family once he had made enough, but the stipend was barely enough for them each month. Samuel’s heart gave out on him before he could see them again.”

“Kinnmore wanted to keep him here?” asked Thomas.

Lionel nodded. “More than likely. Samuel was a good worker, and any owner who knows he has a good worker will keep him, no matter the personal cost to that man.”

Lionel looked at Thomas. “If he ever tells you you can be free, do not believe it.”

***

Thomas's back slowly but surely began to grow used to the work. By the time the tobacco plants had risen from the ground and were full of thick green leaves he had grown used to whatever aches and pains remained. His muscles had grown hard, his arms and legs sinewy. He’d lost weight due to the small amount of food he and the slaves were fed but he’d gained some of it back in muscle. By midsummer he was as familiar and comfortable with life on the plantation as he ever would be.

He knew the other slaves—and overseers too—were curious about him though they never voiced it; he became painfully aware of how apart he was from them with his educated words and gentle mannerisms. ‘What on earth was such a man doing here?’ He knew they asked themselves. Sometimes he asked himself that question. Then the memories would rush to his consciousness like a thousand horses galloping at once and he would have to fight them back before they trampled over his soul, threatening to make him even more of a husk of a man than he already was.

Lord Kinnmore came outside and walked the grounds a few times that summer, with his servants in tow. During his latest visit he’d asked Mr. Tommlin about Thomas as the three of them stood on a path. It was clear Tommlin-dog still didn’t care for Thomas and his views regarding Lord Kinnmore’s property but he begrudgingly told his lordship that Thomas had learned well and rarely stepped out of line.

“Very good,” said Kinnmore, casting what Thomas assumed was an approving gaze at him. “I will talk with my staff in the house, and we will see what arrangements can be made.”

Thomas nodded. “Yes sir.”

***

A few days later Thomas was told shortly after sunup that today would be his last day as a field hand. He and Lionel spent the day hoeing the fields to keep them free from weeds and picked off the worms that constantly tried to eat the plants. They would drop the worms into burlap bags. Once the bags were full they would be burned. By the time the sun cast long shadows across the sky the plantation was littered with burning bags, sending small plumes of gray smoke up in the air.

As the overseers changed shifts Lionel and Thomas dared to take a break, going behind the smokehouse for a quick drink of water.

“So tomorrow you will be an indoor dog from now on,” said Lionel with a grin.

“I suppose so.”

“Forgive me, but for a white man you do not seem very excited at being with your own people again.”

Thomas shrugged, splashing water over his face before they sneaked around the building and back into the fields.

“I have no people, Lionel,” he said at length. “My people are—were—across the sea in England.”

They began hoeing again. Thomas could feel Lionel’s curious eyes on him.

“You have never spoken of them before,” he said. “Not in all the long summer.”

“They’re all dead, the ones that I cared about,” said Thomas. He tried harder to focus on the hoeing.

“Surely not all of them,” said Lionel. “Don’t rich white men know lots of people? Have big families?”

Thomas spent too long digging around one plant. He hit its roots. He sighed and stopped.

“Yes, we do. I did. Until my father took all those things away from me.”

It was as much as he could say without the memories galloping towards him.

“I am sorry,” said Lionel, also stopping to look at him. “I did not mean to upset you. I must admit though I am still wondering how it is you came to be here. You are not at all like most rich white men. You actually like my people. You treat us equally. It is unusual. I will miss you when you go inside.”

Thomas smiled at the man whom he now realized Lionel was the closest thing he had to a friend. And he was right; he hadn’t talked about himself or his past at all. Perhaps Lionel had earned the right to know just a little.

“All right, one question,” said Thomas. “You may ask me one question about myself and I will answer it to the best of my ability.”

Lionel raised an eyebrow at this odd game. Still, he pursed his lips together and hoed around another plant, thinking.

“Where is your wife?” he asked.

Lionel’s eyes fell pointedly to Thomas's hand. A sad smile came to Thomas's face as he lifted his hand and gently touched the gold ring still on his finger.

“Ah. Of course,” he said softly. “Honestly, I do not know where she is, or even if she is alive.”

It was impossible to concentrate on his work now. Thomas leaned on the hoe instead, eyes drifting across the darkening plantation as the sunlight filtered through the trees.

“When my father sent me away he did not tell me what was to become of my wife. I suspect though he forced her to leave, probably to leave the whole country. Her and—“

He stopped short. His heart was pounding in his chest as Thomas fought hard to control the rising turmoil he felt. He could not even answer a simple question.

“And who?” Lionel asked quietly after a minute.

Thomas swallowed. “Someone else I loved very much.”

He nearly choked on the words. He swallowed again, feeling bile rising to the back of his throat. He forced it down, forced himself to take the hoe back up.

“Anyway as I said, my father gave me no word the last time I saw him. I did receive word, however, that he himself had been killed several years ago. Attacked in the middle of the night by pirates while he was at sea.”

“That is a grim story,” said Lionel. “I am sorry that happened to you. Whoever your father was, it sounds as though he is better off lying at the bottom of the ocean.”

Thomas nodded grimly. “I only wish it was me who had delivered the final blow. I would thank the pirate that killed him if I could.”

The next day Thomas was given a tour of the Great House—Lord Kinnmore’s home which sat with its back to the wide James River. Apart from Lionel and Sarah it was the only aspect of his new life that Thomas genuinely liked. The river and the country around it were full of fresh air and beautiful sights, a far cry from the Thames River he was so used to back home, having long since been covered with the look and smell of the grime of London’s booming industrial progresses.

The inside sights and smells were much the same as the outside. The only addition was a strange quirk of Kinnmore’s, which was that he insisted upon having cinnamon sticks placed in every room of the house. He told Thomas he was infatuated with their smell and had eyed Thomas as if daring him to object. Thomas told him he enjoyed the smell of cinnamon himself—though he left out comments about how overwhelming the aroma was.

Thomas was led around by a young maid named Emily, a sweet but shy thing of perhaps twenty-two or twenty-three. She showed and named all the rooms to Thomas, of which there were a total number of eighteen. He would be in charge maintaining roughly half of them on a daily basis. In addition he was to do Kinnmore’s bidding whenever he was told, which, Emily informed him, was often at a moment’s notice. Thomas said little but nodded his understanding. He did not inquire further since he well remembered the duties of his own servants back in London…

Thomas sucked in a breath and stopped those thoughts before they could register in his mind. They were upstairs now and Emily was showing him the guest bedrooms, of which there were two and which were part of his side of the house to keep clean. One of the rooms was very rarely used due to the fact that it faced due east and was windowed so any guests would almost certainly complain of the morning sun. Still, Thomas was expected to keep it in pristine condition.

When they were finished Emily shyly asked him if he had any questions not to hesitate to ask her. Thomas asked where he would be sleeping.

“Oh,” said Emily, raising a hand to cheek and blushing slightly. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Hamilton, I---“

“Thomas,” he said.

Emily cast her large green eyes downward and smiled. “Thomas. I completely forgot. This way.”

As she turned to led him across the hall he saw she was still smiling. He realized she fancied him. They came downstairs and left the Great House. Across from it on the western side were two squarish white buildings, less extravagant than the brick guest houses but quite a step above the slave quarters. These, Emily said with a sweep of her arm as they crossed the threshold, were the servant’s quarters. The first they passed was the women’s and the second was the men’s.

Thomas was relieved to find an actual bed inside to sleep on, small and somewhat worn though it was. His back would thank him later.

The next few weeks Thomas found to be a load off his shoulders compared to the rough labors of outside. Emily showed him the ropes of cleaning quickly and efficiently, which was interesting to Thomas. He’d never paid attention to the servants back home and found that his assumptions of cleaning resulted in slow and clumsy work compared to Emily’s swift and swan-like grace of dusting, polishing, and straightening.

Still the work was easy, too easy. Thomas found himself daydreaming as he became more comfortable with his tasks. The afternoons were the most tedious. Lord Kinnmore didn’t accept many guests in the afternoons and when he took his daily nap the servants were extra quiet going about their business. Thomas usually had no one to talk to other than a few trivial exchanges with Emily and the one black manservant, Fredrick, who was Kinnmore’s personal servant.

The boredom proved to be dangerous. Thomas's daydreams inevitably shifted from his immediate circumstances to the past and all that had happened. He brooded over his time spent in Bethlam Royal Hospital. Those were dark days, the darkest of his life and no so far removed. He remembered every horrid thing about the place, from the constant smell of piss and shit and stale food to the screams of the maddest patients housed there…

He would brood, chewing on his lower lip until it bled as he feather dusted the mantles and bookcases. Only then would he realize he’d been thinking too much and stop. The habit, however, only intensified as the weeks dragged on. He thought about the corrupt guards there who raped some of the women, of the bribes he’d seen pass from hand to hand. He thought of his father. Rage would fill him at that, filling him from head to toe with its venom until his heart was pounding in his chest and he wanted to yell and break some of Lord Kinnmore’s expensive furniture instead of cleaning it.

Then one night as he returned to his quarters he heard soft snickering coming from the corner of the building. Fredrick and two other servants were sitting around a makeshift table. It looked to Thomas as if they were drinking. They all looked up at the door nervously but relaxed when they saw it was Thomas. Fredrick beckoned eagerly to him.

“Come over, Thomas, and have a nip or two” he said, raising a drinking glass.

Thomas joined them, brows furrowed.

“Where on earth did you get this?”

The other servants snickered again, giddy with drink. There were no more glasses so Fredrick slid the bottle to him—which was actually an elegantly designed decanter.

“From the house,” he answered. “Kinnmore’s liquor cabinet is full of whiskey, all in the same decanter. He never even notices!”

Thomas sniffed the bottle. It was whiskey, all right. He considered his options. If they were to get caught he would most certainly be cast out on the streets with nowhere to go. It was a stupid thing to risk to be sure, but Thomas found he cared little one way or the other. He was mentally adrift, and his daydreaming was weighing him down.

Thomas raised the decanter to his lips and took a quick swallow. He drank not to rid himself of those dark thoughts but instead to relieve the stress of other, even more deeply buried thoughts he didn’t dare take the time to brood over, thoughts that made his very soul ache with the emotion attached to them. Thomas had brooded on those very thoughts during his time in Bethlam for nearly ten years and he’d nearly driven himself truly mad.

“Good stuff, isn’t it?” asked one of the servants, grinning at him and raising his glass for a toast. “I’ll bet it comes from Ireland. Doesn’t it remind you of Irish whiskey?”

Thomas nodded vaguely, taking another, longer drink and setting himself to the task as those buried thoughts struggled to breathe within him. No, he could not, would not think of his previous life any longer. His body and soul could not bear remembering what he’d lost—who he’d lost.

Thomas collapsed in his tiny bed late that night, head spinning and thoughts muddled and in his delirium he mumbled a name into the pillow and even managed to picture his lost lover in his head.

The liquor protected him from the consequences of the thought. He passed out into peaceful oblivion.

\-------------------------------

Off the coast of Virginia

 

Billy Bones crossed and uncrossed his arms once again as his impatience grew. He stood inside the captain’s quarters alongside John Silver and Captain Flint. Silver shifted his foot and leaned against the back wall. He turned his face towards the light breeze that found its way through the only opening in the room—the single open gun port. In front of him sat Flint, reading a book. To Silver he appeared calm and unconcerned with Captain Vane’s lateness. Silver frowned and looked to Billy. Billy caught his look.

“Simmer down,” he said, breaking the silence. “Take a seat, why don’t you, before you fall over.”

With an aggravated huff Silver half limped, half hopped to the Spanish man o’war’s wide window seat. He was soaking wet with sweat not only because of the stifling air but because he was still getting used to having only one leg.

Flint, who had largely ignored both men until now, turned behind him, eyes drifting to the lonely piece of crafted wood that sat propped up against the other end of the seat.

“It would help if you actually used the crutch, you know,” he said.

“Bugger that thing,” Silver snapped back, look of disgust on his face. It added worry lines to his forehead, and the look had become commonplace ever since Silver had first started walking again. Flint gave a quick glance to Billy, who frowned. This new spring of anger wasn’t like the old Silver. Flint knew he resented becoming handicapped, hated it even. Billy had filled him in on exactly what had happened after Vane’s quartermaster had gotten hold of him and how Silver had begged and begged them not to cut off his leg afterwards. The combination of humiliation and bitterness over the event had stayed with the young pirate.

By the time Flint realized just how concerned he had become over Silver the door creaked open and in walked Vane, followed by his new quartermaster, another one of the log cutters he had recruited. Flint eyed him as they came in and sat down across from Flint at his desk. Billy was also scrutinizing the wild-looking, dread-locked log cutter.

“This the new one?” he asked. “Let’s just hope he’s got a lick of fucking sanity about him,” he said vehemently, crossing his arms and standing straighter. The quartermaster leapt to his feet.

“Fuck you.”

Flint half-raised out of his seat and threw an arm in front of Billy as the bosun sprung forward, eyes going wide.

“Billy,” warned Flint, looking at Vane.

The tension between Billy and Vane over what had happened to Silver’s leg was still fresh. Since Billy had killed Vane’s quartermaster, Billy had no one other than Vane to take his anger out on. Flint had come to realize that Billy absolutely took his oaths as a pirate seriously—and that included treating his companions as brothers.

Charles Vane looked up to his new quartermaster with his hawk-like gaze and nodded at the chair next to him.

“Sit down, Simon. Mr. Bones here meant no harm, did you?”

Vane narrowed his eyes up at Billy, whose jaw tightened visibly. Just when Billy’s lack of response threatened the quartermaster out of his seat again, Flint cut in.

“All right, enough,” he said loudly, sitting back down himself. “This issue can wait. We need to finalize the plan before it gets dark. Mr. Silver.”

Flint turned sideways in his chair as all eyes shifted to the other quartermaster.

“This was your idea, so why don’t you take us through it?” prodded Flint.

Silver met Flint’s gaze, surprised at this level of trust. Flint simply nodded for him to begin. Silver let out a breath and leaned over the edge of the window seat, one hand propped up against his single leg.

“Very well. About an hour before sunset, Captain Vane and the two sloops under his command will sail up to the mouth of the river, hugging its southern bank. As they will be in plain sight, the fortress there will open fire once their warning shot is ignored. Vane will send out the two ships’ gunboats up into the river, making it appear as though he wishes to raid Norfolk. As soon as night falls he will retreat, and at roughly the same time Captain Flint, along with Mr. Bones here and most of our crew, will slip into longboats and—God willing—row effortlessly up towards the north bank and into Williamsburg. They will then proceed to pillage and plunder—quietly, if possible—and make off like fat kings, rowing back out of the river and into the waiting bosom of this ship, where we will all sail away happily ever after.”

Silver had stood and begun pacing as he spoke; warming to his own words and delivering them as well as any orator Flint had seen—save for himself. It was, in fact, the only activity that seemed to wash away his anger. Once he had finished, however, Silver limped back over to the window seat, sweating again with effort. He ignored the crutch.

Flint nodded, smiling grimly at Silver’s droll ending to his speech. Vane made a ‘tuh’ sound, sucking on a toothpick, though even he seemed to have enjoyed the monologue, eyeing Silver with something resembling respect.

“Getting back out to sea is going to be tricky,” said Vane, slowly uncrossing a leg and leaning forward as he looked to Flint. “Even under the cover of darkness, you might be seen. You’ll have to make good time to even be close to my ship if you’re followed.”

Flint ran a hand over his beard. Vane was right. If anything he was understating the difficultly of that part of the plan. Everything counted on him and his men acting with stealth and not alerting the authorities—something which his kind were certainly not known for.

“I’ll talk to my men again,” said Flint. “Make sure they know they’ve got to be quiet, otherwise it will be a flogging for all of them who survive.”

Billy’s chest tightened ever so slightly. He wanted to say something, to protest that idea. Flint felt eyes on him and looked up at him, but the look he threw the bosun cut off any protest Billy might have voiced. Even Vane was eyeing the other captain now.

“Never known you to get your jollies from punishing crew before,” he said.

Flint looked unrepentant. “Charlestown changed things. It’s as simple as that.”

He rose and rolled his neck, signaling that the meeting was over—as well as the current conversation. Billy left to attend his duties and Silver took advantage of a water barrel near the window seat, dipping a ladle into it and pouring it over his face, then filling his cup.

“A word, captain,” said Vane as he and Flint stepped outside and onto the deck of the man o’war. Flint motioned for them to head up to the quarter deck.

“What is it?”

Vane waited until they reached the top of the stairs and stood looking over the railing at the rest of the massive ship and her crew. Vane rested his palms on the rail, leaning into it. He didn’t speak right away, which made Flint nervous.

“Well?” he asked.

Vane licked his lips, still gazing out.

“Charlestown did change things,” he said. “It changed the way I see us. Before, I thought we were just like them in some ways, like England, with our own laws and codes and in-fighting. Yet I didn’t think the civilized world even cared about us anymore. I was wrong. I should have listened to Eleanor.”

Now Vane turned and looked at Flint, narrow eyes somber.

“You listened to Ms. Barlow. If it were me, I’d have stormed Nassau’s fort to get me out instead.”

Flint felt the fire inside of him stoked.

“I did what I thought was right at the time,” he said.

“I know,” Vane said quickly. “I only meant that even though we think differently about some things, we’re the same in that our blood doesn’t always rush in the direction of our heads where women are concerned.”

Vane offered him a wry smile. Flint had to force one to appear under his copper-colored mustache. He forced himself to let Vane finish, stilling the burning in his chest.

“For what it’s worth,” Vane continued, “I’m sorry what happened to her. If anything like that ever happened to Eleanor…”

Flint looked at him sharply. It was the closest Charles had ever come to admitting the depths of his feelings for Eleanor Guthrie, even though most everyone knew of it. Still, Flint figured the other captain was being unusually courageous at the moment.

“Eleanor Guthrie is a survivor,” said Flint. “She always has been.”

He kept his eyes trained on the crew buzzing around the ship, not trusting himself to look at Vane. Vane grunted in agreement. Then they both fell quiet. It was all Flint could offer him, damn him. Even as they seemed to be gaining each other’s trust Vane could still piss him off in a matter of seconds with the wrong words. If only he knew the depths of his feelings, knew what he and Miranda had gone through together…

Flint put a halt to such thoughts as he felt his emotions surge upward, desperate for a release that he’d been holding in ever since Miranda’s death. He clenched the railing until his hands hurt, grinding his teeth together.

“I’m going back over,” said Vane, nodding towards the leeward side of the man o’war, where less than a hundred yards away, a smaller frigate awaited his command. Next to it was yet another ship, her crew also following his orders. Together the two crews numbered roughly one hundred. The ships’ combined ammunition and cannon were also impressive, and though all figures were still less than Flint’s great man o’war, Vane seemed appeased with his part in their joint captaincy—for now.

Flint wondered when that would change. It would be the same with Vane as with everyone else—as long as their goals remained aligned he needn’t worry, but the moment Vane saw a greater opportunity with something else he would chase after it without a second thought.

Flint frowned, still clutching the railing and looking out over his ship. What they were attempting to do now was beyond bold, if not downright mad. Still, the siege of Charlestown had proven that England was not the invincible conqueror of the world it thought it was. He had struck a blow and he knew it. Vane knew it. The crews knew it. He wouldn’t be surprised if word had already reached as far as Spain. The thought filled him with a dark pride. It was a satisfying feeling to know that he could exact revenge in such a spectacular and brutal way, a revenge that was rightly deserved by all England had done to him.

And it wasn’t enough. As Flint gazed out at the dying light of the day he wanted more than just the pirates to know about the siege and whatever came next; he wanted the whole fucking world to know. He wanted every man woman and child to know what Captain Flint was capable of.

He wanted them to know how much he hurt.

“Captain.”

Flint blinked, coming back to the present. He turned to face Silver, who had limped out of the captain’s quarters and stood looking up at him from the main deck.

“We should talk,” he said, nodding back towards the captain’s cabin.  
***

Flint stood leaning against his desk, tired of sitting and growing anxious over the coming raid. In less than an hour they’d be poised at the mouth of the James River. He hoped Silver hadn’t found a flaw in their plan. Instead Silver spoke of something just as vital though much farther away.

“I know we need to focus on tonight,” he said. He lowered his voice. “But once this is over we must come up with another plan for the gold situation.”

Flint’s eyes darted automatically to the door. He lowered his voice as well.

“I know. But until we’re home and we can evaluate the situation there’s not much I can do.”

Silver licked his lips. “Assuming that Nassau is in complete chaos with Ms. Guthrie gone, and assuming that the temporary owners of the gold are planning for your impending return, I’d imagine they are already making their own plans.”

“They haven’t planned for Captains Flint and Vane returning together,” Flint countered. “That is our biggest advantage.”

“True,” said Silver. “But Max is very clever, cleverer than most give her credit for. You won’t be able to simply come at her with an assault as though she is a prize to be taken, and expect her to give you the gold.”

Flint’s upper lip curled into its trademark snarl. “Watch me.”

Silver inhaled a slow, deep breath—his own trademark gesture of trying to have patience with Flint.

“I know what you’re saying,” Flint said before Silver could speak again. “We will have a plan, I promise, but that bitch and anyone else who so much as hints they know about the gold is dead. I fought and bled for it—*we* fought and bled for it.”

Flint’s voice had risen and Silver was raising his palms up, signaling for him to be quiet. Flint saw he was looking at him with something between annoyance and fear.

“All right, Jesus,” hissed Silver. “Calm yourself, please. I only wanted to remind you—“

“I don’t need reminding,” snapped Flint, spinning around and going to sit behind his desk. He landed in the chair with a thud and pulled out a flask from the top drawer. He ran a rough hand over his tightly-pulled ginger colored hair and sighed. Silver hobbled over next to him and spoke softer.

“I know what’s on your mind,” he said. “And I certainly don’t blame you for being angry.”

Flint’s eyes glanced—or glared—up at him.

“But if you start drinking now…”

Silver trailed off, leaving the rest of his words hanging pointedly in the air between them. He was right. Flint opened the drawer and reluctantly put the flask away. What the hell was he thinking? He had never, ever drank before something like this. The night before, perhaps, but never the night of.

“I know,” he muttered at length. A shudder passed over him. He was scaring himself.

“Well,” said Silver with a relieved sigh, “I’d best rally the men, get them in the mood.”

“Wait,” said Flint suddenly. “I want you to do something first. I need you to get me a razorblade, a straight edge.”

Silver had limped over to his crutch. He turned with a raised eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I want you to cut my hair.”

The other eyebrow came up as well. “I’m hardly a barber, Flint.”

“I know. But the ship’s barber, Greenly, was killed by Vane’s men in Charlestown. You cut your own hair, I assume?”

A bit of the anger in Flint had dissolved, and now a gentler, smirking Flint was eyeing his quartermaster. The expression seemed forced, but still Silver perked up, trying to hide his own smile with a frown.

“Of course, but I hardly think that qualifies me to—“

“Oh shut up and do it.”

The command was still gentle—in a very Flint way.

“Yes sir,” said Silver.

 

The job was done within ten minutes. Flint had used the vanity mirror left behind by the ship’s Spanish captain and had propped it up against a wall. He sat in his chair while Silver stood behind him, razor in hand, and cut Flint’s hair as Flint verbally guided him. Always it was shorter, shorter, shorter, until Silver was shearing it into a close crop. Flint’s natural red became much more pronounced. When it was done Flint ran a hand over it and looked in the mirror. Silver seemed to be scrutinizing it as much as he was. Flint half turned in his seat and looked at him expectantly.

“Well it’s different,” said Silver, “But I suppose it suits you now.”

“What do you mean ‘now’?”

Silver turned somber. “Like you said, Charlestown changed things.”

The quartermaster’s insight surprised Flint into silence. He had only cut his hair so dramatically one other time in his adult life, and that was after he and Miranda had arrived at Nassau. He was finding it more and more difficult to deny such things to Silver’s sharp mind.

Like the time Silver had discovered that Flint actually cared what other people thought of him.

Flint looked at him evenly, and something amounting to another layer of trust seemed to settle in the air between them.

***

Charles Vane stood between the foremast and bowsprit of the Ranger, quiet as a mouse and with the eyes of a hawk as he looked out onto the black sea of the Atlantic.

Behind the Ranger came the Lark. It was his second ship to command. It was only a sloop and noticeably smaller than his mighty brig, but what it lacked in size it easily made up for in speed. It sailed so swiftly, in fact, that Vane had to order her captain—one of his new crew from the log cutters—to bring her down a few knots so that she remained behind Ranger as they drew near the mouth of the James River.

His eyes had adjusted as well as they could to the dim light cast by a sliver of a moon and the stars, and he navigated half by those faculties and half by instinct alone. As they neared their destination he took out a spyglass and squinted into it. Wordlessly he handed the small telescope to the man standing close beside him—Mr. Lewis Turner, who had grown up along the Tidewater of Virginia and still knew the area like the back of his hand.

Turner squinted, gums raised over his lips in concentration.

“That big bulge there,” he said, pointing and handing the glass back to Vane, “That’s it. The bend that’ll lead us straight into her south bank.”

“And then?” asked Vane.

“Then it will be a good mile or two of wide open river before there’s treacherous rocks to avoid in her middle. But we needn’t worry about those, since we’ll have alerted the fort by then and will turn about back to sea.”

Vane looked at him. “You’re certain?”

Turner nodded without flinching. “As certain as the sun rises, sir.”

“Then let’s make ready the cannons and drop some sail.”

***

Ranger and Lark crept around the bend of the James River without a single shout of order being given. All men on both ships knew their duties and carried them out silently, so that by the time they were at its mouth the ships were fully armed and ready for whatever came their way by land.

There were wharfs along the northern banks of the river—a town called Hampton, according to Turner, where numerous merchant vessels and smaller boats were docked but all were dormant at this hour. It was the land behind the shore line, where the mighty Fort Stover stood, that had Vane’s attention.

He had no doubt the fort was manned with waking men even at this hour. The James River provided ample opportunity for pirates to sneak into the Virginia colonies, and the fort provided the necessary insurance. Even so, as Ranger sailed into the river Vane saw only two small dark outlines standing on the lookout areas of the fort. That was good. They either had never experienced an ambush at night or not at all.

 

Captain Flint, Billy Bones, and twelve other men set out in the dying wake of Lark and into the mouth of the river. Behind them in another one of the man o’war’s long boats were twenty more men—many of them chosen by either Flint himself or Mr. Bones, who knew their strengths and weaknesses. This thought crossed Flint’s mind and he felt a twinge of jealousy. He had never bothered to get to know his crew, ever changing as many of them were over the years. He simply had no time for it. Billy, however, made it a point to know his brothers, as he called them. It was a good thing he did for times like these. Flint had come to rely on his bosun nearly as much as he did Silver now. Somehow, both men had slipped under his usual wall of suspicion and had become trusted crewmen—almost trusted, mused Flint.

His thoughts were stopped short as they entered the wide mouth of the James. He was at the tiller, turning the boat so that they stayed close to the river’s southern bank and opposite of where Vane was leading the two ships. All was still quiet, including Flint’s men. Even so he could sense them growing tense as an unseen energy filled the boat. Billy felt it too, sitting up straighter and crossing his arms as he and Flint peered out into the outskirts of the buildings that dotted the shoreline.

Then it happened. Vane had raised the black on Ranger. Moments later Lark had done the same, and the two tiny guards posted at Fort Stover were suddenly running to and fro. Flint could barely make out the fort in the dark, but all the men on both boats heard the sharp echoing of orders being shouted from its top. He ordered the sails to the boats be dropped and for the men to pick up oars.

“Steady,” said Flint in a low and calm voice as the men shuffled anxiously around him. He ordered them to row faster. Billy directed him to steer either towards the left or the right, trying to keep the boats just close enough to the shore without the keels running aground.

They needed to stay as far away as possible from the fort when it opened fire.

And open fire it did, on the two pirate ships that invaded the James River. The sound of cannon fire suddenly cracking through the air after so much quiet caused even Flint to start—almost. He quickly composed himself and gave the tiller to the next best man, joining Billy at the fore of the boat. They were gliding swiftly through the water now as the ships returned fire on the forts.

The sudden and terrifying commotion also alerted the townsfolk on either side of the river. Flint now turned to the man beside him—Heath Turner, brother to Lewis Turner, who also knew this river like the back of his hand. Turner told Flint when they should bank towards the center, gradually moving to the north bank. The maneuver had to be done very carefully, however, because now Turner said there would be some outcropping of rocks to avoid down the river’s center.

With Turner, Billy, and Flint all straining to see the river’s current they finally caught sight of the black misshapen forms of the rocks and the current splashing over them. The tiller avoided these and they rowed on towards Williamsburg.

By now Vane’s ships were fully engaged with the fort. The fort had been built with its distance to the river keenly in mind, so that its cannons might reach whatever target they were aimed at. So it was that once the first shots made impact on Ranger’s hull that Vane was already ordering a turnabout back towards open sea. The militia swarmed out of the fort and onto the river’s banks, muskets and rifles firing. The shots were warning shots, meant to intimidate foes into fleeing—and that is exactly what the men standing on dry land thought they had accomplished as the two pirate vessels turned tail.

Vane, however, was not done yet.

“Mr. Simon,” he bellowed, striding over to the railing as the massive ship turned and showed her broadside to the militia at the shore. Simon quickly came up to his captain, grinning widely.

“Sir.”

“Fire at will.”

Simon turned and looked down at the gunners, all ready and waiting. He bellowed out the orders, and seconds later all the troops who had begun to cheer at the ships’ retreat were suddenly scattered about in terror as Ranger unleashed her row of six eight-pounders into them. Vane watched with satisfaction as the shot ripped through a number of them, sending body parts and entrails flying.

More cannon fire came from the fort, this time sailing over the deck and nearly taking down the foremast. Vane shouted out orders from the quarterdeck, his eyes darting around his ship and spot-checking the rigging and sails. Both ships were now nearly lined up with the mouth of the river, speed increasing. Vane strained his eye through a spyglass at Fort Stover, waiting for the precise moment. Then, as Ranger was lined up with the fort, Vane gave another order to the master gunner.

The gun he and eight others commanded, however, was not one of the eight-pounders. Instead it was a brass nine-pounder with a very long barrel. The cannon was aimed as they passed in front of the fort, then BOOM! It rocked back in its carriage and Vane watched as its shot sailed long past where other cannon balls had fallen short—whizzing through the air and all the way into the fort itself.

The shot was a success, slamming into its west-facing battery and taking out the gun mount there. A second shot from the nine-pounder followed the first. It was also the last shot for that particular cannon Vane had, and it too hit the fort, though not as well aimed as the first shot had been.

Still, the crews of both ships whooped and screamed in triumph as they left James River and entered the open and welcoming sea, leaving behind human wreckage in their wake.

Vane let out a breath and lit a cheroot, looking back out past the stern. He couldn’t make out the two boats in the river but neither were there reports that they had been sunk. So he assumed Flint had been successful.

“Good luck to you, you bastard,” Vane muttered to himself, squinting into the darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

They made landfall with little problem; most of the town of Hampton was in chaos further down the shoreline and no one paid any attention to the two long boats full of thirty-two questionable-looking men who emerged from them.

Flint had them very loosely tie the boats to the docks, just tight enough so the current wouldn’t pull them away. It went without saying their return to the boats would be a hasty one and they would need a quick escape.

They came up the muddy and slippery banks of the James. Flint led the way, pulling out two pistols and cocking them. It was the only signal the men needed and they did the same.

Heath Turner stayed close beside Flint, pointing out the way to Hampton’s armory. The colonists had little in the way of real money to take, and Flint’s goal all along was to take the next best thing.

So up the banks and into the town they went, spreading out at Flint’s command once the large stone building that was like a fort itself came into view. And then shouts rose from south of them as the remaining militia had finally seen the group of pirates.

Turner quickly led them to the doors of the armory, where two baffled guards fumbled to load their rifles. They ended up instead pointing their bayonets at Flint and the rush of pirates behind him, but Flint shot both of them dead. He dropped his pistols and took up a rifle, loading it. The shouts and firing of the militia were coming closer as he, Billy and others threw themselves up against the thick wooden doors of the armory, taking off the wooden bar that rested in its black iron holders and using it as a battering ram along with their bodies.

It took longer than what Flint wanted. The militia were upon them by the time the doors finally gave. Flint’s arm throbbed in pain as he burst inside the building. The clash of steel came in close behind him as his men engaged the ground troops.

He and the men who had managed to make it inside quickly began slinging the building’s collection of rifles and muskets over their shoulders and shoving smaller arms into the burlap satchels each man had slung over his shoulders for just such a purpose. There were even a few grenades and Molotov cocktails in the armory—highly unusual. Flint neither questioned the reasoning of these weapons nor cared. He grabbed up the grenades and carefully but quickly sat them in Billy’s satchel.

The militia had shoved and shot their way into the armory. Flint and Billy had gathered what they could and now they—along with roughly a dozen other pirates—turned to face their enemies.

Hand-to-hand combat always became automatic to Flint. He was fully alert, blood pumping through his veins and senses heightened as he cut down man after man and watched his backside. After the first few minutes, however, things like the shock of blood splattering his face or watching the man next to him cry out as blood gushed over his lips and half his stomach was gutted, ceased to register in his brain. He moved almost mechanically against the onslaught of militia men, ignoring their cries and doing his best to shut out the dying sounds of his crew around him.

He paused to wipe his face only when the blood dripped into his eyes. He didn’t know how he’d gotten back outside the armory again; hadn’t realized his movements had taken him there but when there was a break in the bloodshed he saw he was standing halfway between the building and the boats.

Flint’s chest was heaving, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword in a death grip as he took in his surroundings. In front of him a crewman cried out and fell as the end of a bayonet was jabbed into his stomach by a militia man. He had taken up the rifle like a spear, stabbing over and over as the pirate fell. He kept on jabbing as though the man were an animal instead.

Flint’s lip curled. He let out a guttural cry and charged. He came up on the militia man so fast he couldn’t react, and Flint slashed across his forearm. The man cried out and dropped the rifle. He turned and pulled out his sword, yelling obscenities at Flint. Flint knocked the sword out of his fumbling hands and slashed across the man’s jugular. Blood spurted out in all directions and the man slowly sank to his knees. But Flint wasn’t done.

He shoved the nearly dead body to the ground with a boot, kicking at it and raised his cutlass to inflict more damage. He drove it deep into the man’s stomach with a thick schrk sound as his life drained away in a pool all around him. Flint dropped to a knee and pushed his cutlass in as far as it would go, until he hit dirt.

A hand on his shoulder caused him to jump up and spin around; sword ready to open another throat, but it was Billy.

Billy was staring at him wide-eyed, panting and covered in blood himself, but as ever there was something passive in Billy’s dark eyes. Even in the midst of battle and covered in wild streaks of war paint the bosun seemed to retain his center.

“Captain,” said Billy. “We need to leave.”

His words were urgent. Flint looked around them and nodded. The militia had lost many men, but his own crew was wearing down fast. They needed to get as much ammunition as possible for the ships and for Nassau.

“Give the signal,” said Flint.

Billy raised the silver whistle tied around his neck to his lips and blew. The high-pitched tune reached the ears of the remaining pirates and they turned and ran back towards the waiting boats.

The shot, when it hit Flint’s side, had come from his right, not his left, where the southern bank was.

“*Huh—uhh.*”

The sound was forced from his lips. His legs stopped running as the white-hot pain hit him and he stumbled. He looked to his right and saw a militia man had sneaked around the battle and was crouched behind a post on the dock, slightly above the ground and had the perfect shot.

Flint gritted his teeth together and forced his legs to work.

“Captain!” Billy cried out, rushing over to him. Flint went down on a knee. He raised a finger and pointed to the man still crouched behind the thick wooden post who was reloading his rifle as quickly as his hands could do the task. Billy saw him and pulled out his last remaining pistol, taking aim. He never got to squeeze the trigger. From behind he was assaulted by two men. Flint saw the first come at him with his sword. Billy had spun around and had managed to block the blow with his forearm against the man’s wrist. The second attacker, however, was armed with his fists, and began punching Billy in the side.

Flint kept himself propped up with a palm against the mud. His side felt like someone was ripping it open. He moaned, other hand clutching at the wound. He shuddered as he felt a massive amount of warmth leaking out of his body. He did the only thing he could think to do, which was to drop to his belly and crawl the rest of the way to the water as a fresh round of bullets whizzed around him.

He found the edge of the river’s bank. It was steep here, too steep to be where they had docked. More bullets zinged around him and into the ground, shooting dirt up all around him. Flint pulled himself over the side. It was steeper than he thought, and he fell several feet before landing in the muddy water with a thud. He cried out in pain as the impact upset his wounded side. Flint forced himself to flip back onto his belly, then his wobbling feet. He half ran, half stumbled into the first boat against the bank. It was a cargo boat carrying sacks of something—grain or something like it. Flint peered up over its side and saw his men scrambling into the two long boats docked at least fifty yards away. There appeared to be a good number of his crew left, but Flint’s head was too dizzy to count. He did not see Billy Bones among them.

He clenched his teeth together and groaned, flopping his back against the inner wall of the boat. The shouts and screams and occasional gun fire continued for countless minutes on end. Flint crawled over to a small hatch in the bottom of the boat on her stern side—another storage area—and pulled himself into it. Instant darkness and a hot musky smell greeted him. More sacks and other odd objects poked and shoved up against him. Flint struggled himself into a half comfortable position and let out a breath. He gave up at last, lying back into the sacks and gripping his side.

So this was how it ended, he figured. He was alone, with no aid coming, and thousands of miles from home.

Many more thousands of miles from his birth home, from where his life had abruptly changed forever. Damn London, he thought. Damn it and damn the whole of England and the men firing upon his crew now, no doubt also all English. He finally knew what it was to hate without prejudice, without the principle of knowing your enemy. That thought gave him some perverse comfort as he lay there, probably dying.

Miranda, he thought, would understand. She had finally understood hate in her last moments on this earth, screaming at Peter Ashe. James knew she would have understood and even accepted his actions ever since that horrific moment when the second only person he had ever cared for was ripped away from him.

The gunfire and shouts were slowly fading away, and with them Flint felt his own senses grow dull. The pain in his side was a sharp throb now, as was the pain in his head. He laid his head against the wall of the cramped storage room and closed his eyes and waited. Waited for oblivion to take him over, whether he was dying or simply passing out he didn’t care—only that it meant the pain would stop.

***

The pain came back when he opened his eyes. Instead of the dark interior of the storage room bright light greeted him instead. Flint blinked. He was lying flat on his back. Something was wrong; he was somewhere else he couldn’t possibly have gotten to on his own.

He tried rolling over on his side but a firm boot pinned him down in place. He let out a groan as the pressure from it irritated the wound just below it. He fully opened his eyes. He was on solid ground, and there were faces looming over him.

“Careful. The wound is still open,” said a woman. The man beside her grunted and removed his boot cautiously from Flint’s body.

“Come on Martha,” he said, wrapping an arm protectively around the woman. “We’ve done what we can. He’s look like a bloody criminal.”

Martha offered him a nervous smile before turning to leave with the man.

“Wait!”

Flint winced as he struggled to stand. He felt bandages over the bullet wound but Martha had been right—fresh blood coated the white strips. Martha stopped and turned, her husband urging her on.

“Wait,” said Flint in a stronger voice this time, rising to his feet. “Where am I?”

The man narrowed his eyes at him disdainfully. “You’re ten miles upriver from where I found you in my fucking boat. Now you best be on your way. I don’t want no trouble.”

The man pulled back his leather vest, revealing a pistol underneath as he urged his wife ahead of him. Flint looked around to get his bearings. The man and woman walked towards a small cottage in front of a wooded area. Behind him Flint saw the James River, its banks covered with more woods. He turned back towards the couple, considering running after them and throwing some coins to them for their aid but figured it would be more trouble than what it was worth after the man shot him another look over his shoulder before disappearing inside the cottage.

Flint sighed. The motion hurt his ribs. He gingerly peeled back some of the bandage to have a look. He winced at the sight of mangled flesh. The ball of lead had been removed but that was it—the wound was still open and unattended. He quickly pressed the bandage back against it as blood trickled out.

He was weak and thirsty and utterly lost. If he attempted to trek back south again there was a good chance he would run into more militia and a now-wary town of Hampton. His choices were few, so he took the only one that made any sense to a lost seaman—he walked back to the river and followed its banks.

\-------------------------------

Emily the housemaid was a small, bird-like creature, but once Thomas got to know her she proved to be quick witted and quite humorous. She would often quip jokes to him to whittle away the long afternoons cleaning. Thomas appreciated her presence, though it did little to curve his appetite for nips of whiskey once Fredrick had told him how he had procured it.

Still, Emily made him smile. He was acutely aware of her interest in him, and he did his best to gently let her down. He was forced to lie, to tell her his wife still waited for him and that they were happily married. She accepted this without question—noting his ring—but admitted her disappointment. Even after that, however, she continued their friendship without begrudging him a wife.

So it was that one day during lunch break that Thomas saw Emily acting oddly he became concerned. Instead of using her normal swan-like grace when dusting the cabinets and bookcases downstairs, Emily seemed anxious and jumpy. Thomas saw she kept looking out towards the western-facing bay windows as if expecting to see something cross in front of them at any moment.

“Emily,” he said quietly from across the room. It was just after midday and Lord Kinnmore was taking his usual nap, so the house was mostly silent. Emily looked over to him and Thomas gave a quick jerk of his head, beckoning her.

“What has you so upset?” he asked.

Emily licked her lips and pursed them. She pulled on her fingers and looked out the windows. She leaned in and whispered back to him, looking afraid.

“In the women’s quarters, Thomas, there’s a man sleeping in there!” 

Thomas blinked at her. “What do you mean, a man sleeping?”

Emily licked her lips again, glancing around to see if any other servants were around. They were not.

“Yes sir, as right as rain, there is! I lost a hair pin and went back to fetch one from my bed and there he was, sleeping or passed out or God knows what in the corner! I’m afraid, Thomas! I don’t know what to do. If his lordship finds out I might get in trouble. If I say nothing, what if he wakes and robs or murders us all!”

She was becoming loud and more animated with each passing word. Thomas pressed his palms over her shoulders to steady her.

“Emily,” he said. “Let’s go out there together, all right?”

Together they sneaked out of the house, which wasn’t difficult at midday. The few guards Kinnmore kept posted at the doors of the Great House were dozing off themselves, and Thomas and Emily were able to reach the servant quarters with relative ease. Even if they had been caught punishment would have been light, Thomas mused, since their actions could simply be chalked up to an affair between the two of them or something trivial like taking an extra break.

Emily led the way to the doors of the white building. Thomas looked around them before entering. Other than the house guards the overseers were also outside, but Thomas knew the Great House was of little concern for their roaming eyes to pay much attention to what went on beyond their stretch of fields.

In they went. Thomas softly shut the door behind them and walked into the dim, one-room building. There were eight beds, four on each side. Wordlessly Emily gestured to the bare wooden floor. There were large patches of blood leading across the floor, some of it smeared in places. Then she pointed to the last bed on the left. The corner of the room was invisible until Thomas passed the other beds, following the blood trail. Sure enough, there was a man lying on his side, pressed up against the wall. The blood looked like was coming from his exposed side, though it was hard to tell because he was wearing a dark, Spanish style long coat…

Thomas walked closer and looked at the man’s face and felt his chest suddenly grow tight. The moisture drained from his mouth and his breath caught in this throat. He blinked, rubbed his eyes furiously and looked again.

“Thomas?” asked Emily from behind. “Are you all right?”

Thomas said nothing. He gaped at the form before him. It was barely recognizable yet instantly familiar at the same time. The beard he knew, the shape of the jaw, those long reddish eyebrows. The hair was much shorter, though also still that ruddy color he knew. Thomas forced his eyes away from the face and raked them down the body. Same build, though the clothes were a far cry from the pretty navy blue. He swallowed thickly.

“Thomas?”

He nearly jumped when Emily touched his arm.

“Oh!” she said, surprised.

Thomas nearly fell. He had squatted down at some point to study the body. Now he raised up, legs feeling like rubber. He didn’t take his eyes off the slumbering form, convinced it would either change into someone else or disappear altogether if he did and prove him mad after all.

“Thomas,” Emily said again, more urgently this time. “You know him?”

Thomas blinked and finally dragged his eyes away as reality set in.

“Y-yes, I do—did, once,” he stuttered. He huffed out a breath, trying to regain his sense of reason and things he knew had definitely happened in his past versus things he knew had not happened and how in the blazing, fiery hell was James lying on the floor in front of him?

“Jesus,” he muttered, pressing his back against the wall as though physically balancing himself might help his addled brain as well. Emily looked from him to the stranger and back to him.

“Well what do we do?”

“Let me think a moment.”

“Here.”

Emily retrieved him a cup of water from the pitcher on the floor beside the bed. Thomas drank it greedily though he wasn’t thirsty.

It had been a long time since a servant had served him a glass of water.

Thomas took several deep breaths and dared to look at the floor again. His chest tightened again, though this time he kept his senses. His mind reeled as he considered his options. He looked to Emily.

“Has anyone else seen him? Did you tell anyone else?”

“No. I had only discovered him not an hour before I told you.”

“And the guest houses? Is at least one of them still empty?”

Emily’s eyes darted back and forth in her head as she thought. “Yes. The one on the right. Lord Kinnmore had the constable visiting and staying in the left one, but the other’s not been touched for weeks, save for cleaning.”

“Good,” said Thomas. He removed himself from the wall, legs feeling somewhat steadier.

“I need your help, Emily,” he said, walking over to James. “I need you to help me move him into the guest house.”

Emily’s green eyes grew wide. “Oh no, Thomas. Why not take him to his lordship and he’ll fetch a doctor—“

“Because Emily…” Thomas stood before her, hands gently clinging to her arms as he implored her to look at him. “I’m not sure that…my friend has arrived here under the best circumstances. It appears he was shot, and I’m afraid that getting the attention of Lord Kinnmore might not be the best idea. Do you understand?”

Thomas knew no other way to let Emily know that James looked every bit to him a man on the run and he had no words for the kind of man James appeared to be, even asleep; he had briefly noticed the gold earring in James’s ear and Thomas closed off all thoughts to the giant red flag that raised. Now he watched Emily’s face carefully as she digested and processed this information.

“Oh,” she said at last, sitting down on the bed and looking flushed.

“There’s no time, Emily,” said Thomas. “We need to do this now, and quickly before everyone stirs.”

Emily looked up at him, worry lines set hard into her otherwise flawless forehead. She nodded at last and rose.

“All right then. Which end shall I take?”

Thomas's mouth twitched with a ghost of a smile at her sudden bravado. 

“His legs,” he replied. The tightness in his chest grew and his heart began pounding as Thomas grabbed a hold of James's front by his coat and lifted him. He was terrified they would wake him, and then…and then…then what?

It was hard to be gentle with him as Thomas fought for a good grip under James's arm pits. Still he managed it, and Emily, with some effort, managed to grab hold of his legs at the bend of his knees. Together they painstakingly worked their way across the room with Thomas guiding them. He shoved the door open with his back. The sudden whoosh of fresh air and the sudden exposure terrified him anew. Luckily the guards were still dozing at the back of the house as Thomas and Emily made their way over to the right guest house.

They lowered James to the ground while Emily took her ring of keys from her pocket and unlocked the door. They hefted their load back up and took him inside.

James made a few moans as they carried him but never stirred.

They laid him down on the bed. The interior of the guest house, Thomas found, was nearly as nice as the Great House; Kinnmore had spared no expense to keep his guests as well settled in their sleeping quarters as he would have inside the main house. Two large candelabra sat in holders on both sides of the walls, which were painted in a deep rose color that looked fresh. The bed James lay on had a plush mattress and matching rose-colored sheets, complete with a white cover with rose designs embroidered into it. There was even a small stove in one corner for the winter months, and a wash basin in the other. Thomas's eyes rested on it. Emily, it seemed, was thinking the same thing.

“Well since he’s here, might as well clean him up,” she said.

“His wound,” Thomas said suddenly. The rose sheets were becoming too red. He had nearly forgotten about it; his mind was still trying to pull away from this, the reality that James was still alive and here. He peeled back the thick Spanish coat covering James's side and lifted up his shirt. The bandage covering the injury was nearly soaked through in blood. Emily was quick to take over now, saying something about how she had tended to her father’s own gunshot wounds when she was younger.

She ordered Thomas into the house and to gather up the medical supplies Kinnmore kept in a room across from the parlor. Thomas returned with fresh bandages and also sewing materials Emily had stored underneath her bed in her quarters.

“We’ll need fresh water too,” she said.

The house kept no water in its pitcher without guests, so Thomas was forced back outside and to the well. This meant he had to get dangerously close to the tobacco fields, where at least six guards and overseers, he well remembered, patrolled the area at all times.

Thomas forced himself to have patience. The border of Kinnmore’s estate proper and the fields were well kept with landscaping, and Thomas moved from bush to bush as he struggled to eye the locations of all the guards as they lazily walked and weaved along the paths that cut through the fields, rifles resting against their shoulders. He finally made it to the well, which was just over a low stone wall that officially separated the estate from the fields.

There were no bushes around the well, so Thomas would simply have to run the risk of getting caught. He stepped over the low wall when all eyes were facing away from him and quickly pulled the rope to the well, one hand after the other, until the bucket rose to the top. He hesitated a moment, then untied the rope from the bucket and took the whole damn thing. He discarded the pitcher to the ground.

He felt his face grow hot as he leapt back over the wall, feeling as though he was already caught—yet he made it back to the safety of the bushes without hearing a single shout or alarm bell rung. Thomas weaved his way back through the shrubbery until he was once again at the guest house.

Emily tended to James as best she could, cleaning and stitching up the wound. It took more than a few minutes and Thomas grew nervous. He knew at any moment one or both of them would be missed as the sun now hovered over the tree tops.

“Nearly done,” said Emily, lying a bloodied rag inside the bucket at last. James moaned again, head turning to the side. Thomas noticed for the first time as the sunlight streamed through the small window adjacent to the bed that James was very pale. He swallowed.

“Will he make it?” he asked her.

Emily stood and wiped the perspiration off her brow. “I believe so. I don’t think the ball hit any major organs, but he’s lost a lot of blood so I don’t expect he’ll wake any time soon.”

Thomas let out a sigh. He was almost surprised to find himself relieved because his thoughts and emotions were one jumbled mess that he couldn’t fix just now. Seeing James like this terrified him, and still he refused to let his mind explain to him why, though even as he helped Emily clean up his gaze wondered back to the gold stud in James's ear and the thick belt wrapped around his waist—not the navy officer’s belt he remembered.

When Emily urged them to sneak back to the house Thomas refused.

“Someone will need to stay with him,” he said.

Emily told him he was half mad. She clearly didn’t trust the slumbering man one iota despite Thomas's earlier claims that he knew him. Who could blame her, Thomas thought. Still, it wouldn’t do for James to wake by himself. Thomas calmly told Emily that he might react badly in such a situation until Emily slowly nodded in agreement. Then he had to convince her that they would watch him in shifts throughout the night. Emily had gaped at him wide-eyed and made it quite clear that she wanted no further part in any of this but Thomas finally convinced her, saying they had little choice now.

He was grateful she hadn’t turned sour. Thomas did not know what he would have done if she had threatened to go to Kinnmore after all. Luckily it seemed that their friendship, however stretched and taunt it was now, was enough for Emily to agree to the night shifts.

Thomas took first watch. He found he couldn’t think much sitting in the dark watching James sleep. He still could not quite grasp how it was he was looking at his old lover. Mostly he thought about anything else. Two hours later, Emily quietly entered the room and relieved him, passing a single candle off to him so that he would find his way back to the servant’s quarters. Once in his own bed Thomas's mind was spinning. He was tired, exhausted even, after the day’s events yet he could not, would not, sleep. He fretted that James would wake under Emily’s watch and the girl would become too frightened and flee to Kinnmore. He shifted restlessly, he fidgeted, he bit his lip until it bled. He reached under his mattress and pulled out a bottle and took a drink.

 

The night dragged on with a monotonous schedule. He would return to the guest house after two hours while she went to sleep. There he kept the single candle lit, eyes fixed on the man he once knew. Once he dared to hover over James to see if he looked any better. It was difficult to see through the shadows cast by the candle but James was sweating now where he was not before. Thomas knew that at least meant his fever had broke. Thomas let out a sigh and tried to relax.

He wanted James to live, he just didn’t know if he wanted him to wake.

Morning finally arrived. Thomas sat out on the sagging stoop of the servant’s quarters as it did, no longer caring what Fredrick or the others thought about his sleepless night. They passed him with curiosity and a few questions but Thomas made it clear he was not in the mood. Instead he mentioned the bottle under his mattress, and that was all the information Fredrick needed as the other servant took in Thomas's bloodshot eyes and disheveled clothes.

“You drank all night,” he said, half playfully and half critical. “You are in no condition for work. I am mighty sorry I gave you the bottle, Mr. Thomas, mighty sorry. Still you’s needs to rest. I’ll let the master of the house know. He don’ mind when one of us falls sick every now and then, but don’ make a habit of it.”

Thomas patiently nodded and gave Fredrick his thanks. As soon as he and the others were gone Thomas huffed out a breath. Thank God. Now he could devote his full attention to the guest house. He looked up to the sky to judge the time but today was gray and overcast. He frowned, tempted to relieve Emily early and knowing she was probably at her wit’s end with their little scheme but he was simply too tired. Thomas rose and collapsed back onto his bed, trusting that she would wake him when it was time.

Emily did wake him, though it felt as though Thomas had been sleeping forever. He startled out of bed.

“What time is it?” he croaked, clearing his throat.

“I let you sleep some. It’s just past eight. Don’t look at me like that. You were exhausted, and exhaustion leads to foggy minds and mistakes.”

Thomas's stern gaze softened somewhat. He saw Emily’s own haggled appearance and began to apologize to her for the situation he had put her in and to thank her, but she abruptly cut him off.

“Thomas,” she said, eyes flashing around them nervously. “He’s awake!”

Thomas came out of the building taking long strides, his heart pounding and Emily hot on his heels.

“What did you tell him?”

“I only said a friend of mine said he knew you and took pity on you, nothing more. He’s a bloody pirate, I’ll wager! Some friends you got!”

He looked at her sharply, trying not cringe as she said the word. He could offer her no solace or reassurances. They arrived in front of the guest house. Thomas put his hand over the golden knob but Emily threw her hand over his, stilling him.

“Be careful. He’s got a sword, and he looked ready to use it when I left. He looked ready to do God knows what when I left!” she exclaimed, eyes going wide with freight.

Thomas nodded. His mouth was dry and his palms were sweaty. Emily left him, hiking up her skirts and hurrying to the house before she was missed and throwing concerned glances over her shoulder. Once she was gone Thomas found himself paralyzed. He wanted to throw open the door as much as he wanted not to. He stood there for another long minute until his courage returned —mingled with desperation to see James's face—and he turned the knob.


	4. Chapter 4

The door swung inward with a tiny creak. There stood James in the center of the room, one hand gripping the hilt of the sword at his belt, legs braced to run, and the look of a predator on his face. If Thomas had been partial to fainting he would have. His heart leaped to his throat and he gasped, stopping dead in his tracks.

The wolf-like look rescinded. The long eyebrows furrowed, the sea green eyes widened. The jaw went slack and finally the hand dropped limply from the sword hilt.

James took an unsure step backwards. A look of pure shock rolled over his face. The change was so dramatic it gave Thomas more courage, and he stepped fully inside and shut the door without turning around. He inhaled and opened his mouth but no words came out.

James echoed his motion, lips parting as his eyes darted up and down over Thomas's body.

“Thomas.”

It came out in nothing more than a breathless whisper, yet Thomas felt chills break out over his arms upon hearing the voice—that voice, the one he thought he would be denied hearing forever more.

Thomas slowly took a few steps forward. He didn’t trust himself to speak so instead he nodded. James gaped at him, brows going up to signal a familiar, tender concern that caused hot tears to burn in Thomas's eyes.

“It’s me,” Thomas said at last, voice thick and raw. James still looked like he was ready to bolt any moment, not believing his own eyes. Thomas had raised his palms in a calming gesture as he painstakingly moved closer to James.

“They…they said you were dead,” James at last stuttered out. Thomas watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “There was…a letter. We received a letter.”

Thomas instantly took note of the word ‘we’ and stored it away. His heart pounded in his chest. Was Miranda also still alive? He forced the thought away because it was too much and instead focused on James.

“I know,” he said. “It was my father. He wanted everyone to think me dead and gone. It was a lie.”

He watched as this information played across James's face. Quickly he continued, “Bethlam was suffering from financial difficulties so they were forced to shrink the number of patients. Lord Ashe wrote to a friend here, Lord Kinnmore, so that I wouldn’t end up in another hospital.”

He stopped, feeling as though he were rambling though in fact he had only spoken the truth as shortly and succinctly as was possible. Again, James digested this bit of information wordlessly. Finally his shoulders relaxed and he raised a hand to his mouth, rubbing it over his beard. He turned away, facing the stove, one hand on his hip. Thomas tensed, watching. The back of James’s head looked to the ceiling as he muttered, “Christ.”

Again, Thomas felt the burn of tears. He struggled for control, to steel himself to the spot. James turned around at last and came to him, strong arms deftly wrapping around Thomas and hugging his smaller body to him before Thomas could muster a protest or any reaction whatsoever. James's hands pushed against back, forcing Thomas into the embrace, his lips and prickle of beard at Thomas's ear. The smell of blood and river water and something that was entirely James reached Thomas's nostrils. His breath was warm and alive.

“Thomas.”

And Thomas raised his arms and gripped James fiercely then, fingers clutching around the Spanish long coat caked with dried mud. He let James bury his face against his neck for a few precious seconds before it all became too much and Thomas felt a different kind of drunkenness wash over him and had to pull away. He grabbed two fistfuls of the long coat, pushing his forearms against James's chest, which had the effect of both keeping James at a distance and preventing him from walking away. He felt a tear roll down his cheek as he spoke, voice still thick and raw.

“James, what the fuck are you doing here?”

He felt James's chest heaving against him as James pulled away. Thomas let his grip slide, releasing him and waiting as James fought to control himself. After a moment he looked up at Thomas to answer.

“That’s a long story,” he said, voice now even and strong. So strong, in fact, Thomas was shocked at how quickly James seemed to transform himself again. From a predatory animal ready to cut Thomas down only a short time ago, to the vulnerable and loving man Thomas once recognized, and now he was as a blank page with no emotion whatsoever. The sea green eyes became shielded as James's face became shrouded in a mask—though Thomas could see a quiver at the corner of his mouth.

***

James warred against himself.

It was the worst kind of battle, the one where there are no winners or losers but simply a struggle to regain his willpower that had served him so well up until this point. But even that wasn’t true anymore, he knew. His will had been weakened ever since Charlestown, and now it threatened to leave him altogether, abandoning him to the tattered and shriveled remnants of his heart and mind. He couldn’t let that happen, not yet.

So he steeled himself against it, pulling away from the embrace of a man come back from the grave, as far as he was concerned. He pulled away and won the battle—barely.

“That’s a long story,” he managed at last.

Thomas gave him something in between a frown and a smile. He stood and poured water from a pitcher and handed the cup to James. James drank it greedily. Thomas gave him another and poured one for himself. The everyday kindness broke some of the tension in the room and James was grateful. As the refreshing water ran down his gullet it hit the bottom of his stomach and he discovered he was starving. His stomach gurgled as if to confirm the thought to Thomas.

“Damn,” Thomas muttered. “Let me go get us something to eat. You must be starving.”

James allowed a small, taunt smile to grace his lips.

“If you can manage it,” he said. Thomas nodded and hurried to the door.

“I’ll be straight back. Please don’t go anywhere. It’s not safe.”

The request—or plea—sounded strange but James nodded without protest, feeling the truth to the words.

Once Thomas shut the door behind him James looked around his surroundings again as he sat down on the edge of the bed. He was, as he’d speculated earlier, most definitely in a plantation guest house. He had no idea where, only that he must have been many miles further north from Hampton. That also meant he was further into the interior of Virginia, which he did not like. He was in enemy territory undoubtedly.

His mind suddenly went to his bosun and the fight that had ensued the previous day. He had last seen Billy being attacked by two militia men, and he had not been one of the lucky pirates that had made it to the longboats. James figured he must be dead. And what of the men who had made it? What would happened once Vane learned that he was gone, presumed dead? And what of the damned gold, and what the hell did any of this train of thought matter now because shouldn’t Thomas be back by now?

James sighed and let his shoulders sag. He moved to take off his coat and immediately winced as his ribs stretched and protested the movement. He had completely forgotten the ugly wound. He found it had been not only cleaned again but he could also feel stitches where there were none before. Surely not Thomas's doing. Thomas was a man of many talents, women’s sewing not one of them. Then again…

The breath went out of James when he realized it had been over ten years since they’d laid eyes on one another. So many things, he knew, could happen in a decade. So many things.

Thomas returned moments later with a pillow case full of food. He explained he had to smuggle it out of the kitchen and had to wait for the opportune moment. He brought bread and cheese and two large pieces of pork the cooks had freshly cooked for lunch and dinner.

They ate with little regard for neatness or manners, both starving. Thomas cleverly tore the empty pillow case in two and used some water from the pitcher so that they could wash their hands and faces afterward.

Then the tension slowly filled the room up again.

It was nearing midday now, and James wondered out loud if Thomas would not get in some kind of trouble. He also asked about the plantation and Thomas's role on it. Thomas explained all of it to him as they sat side by side on the bed, including a quick summary of his duties and his now-dashed hopes of earning both Lord Kinnmore’s trust and enough coin to begin anew.

James felt as though we were in a dream, listening to Thomas Hamilton’s voice grace his ears once again.

He listened intently, not because Thomas's life as an indentured servant was so interesting, which by his own admission it was not, but because he thrilled to hear that voice again. So many times James had listened to the powerful and moving words that Thomas spoke to the crowds that would gather in the Hamilton household. Each time James had been enthralled with them and Thomas's ability to gather and nourish sentiment among even the most cold-hearted of the gentry.

Now, the voice was just as powerful, but it also sounded melancholy to James.

When James gently prodded him for what the asylum had been like Thomas had nearly clammed up altogether.

“It was fucking dreadful. I don’t wish to talk about it,” he’d said, eyes studying anything except James's face. Then he straightened and looked sideways at James.

“What about you? You must tell me something about how it is you are here, how I’m speaking to you again. And how you got shot.”

His words were earnest, and James knew at least some of the truth must be spoken. He sighed and looked around the small but luxurious room again.

“You’re certain we’re safe here?”

“For today, yes. Emily is angry at me, but she’ll not let anyone surprise us. Besides, there’s no reason anyone would come in here, not without Kinnmore’s permission. By tomorrow I’ll wager they’ll start looking for me, but we will figure that out later.”

James allowed his eyes to boldly wash over Thomas before he began his tale. Thomas gazed back, waiting patiently. James could not yet bring himself to look directly into Thomas's dark sapphire eyes. He knew if he did then he would lose the battle with his willpower and might very well end up crumpled on the floor into a hot, sobbing mess, clinging to Thomas like some child.

He started with his arrival at Nassau, their arrival at Nassau—and nearly lost the battle then and there.

Miranda’s presence was still so much a part of him that he hadn’t thought about it; he’d been suppressing his thoughts of her for weeks on end now. He spoke of them together as he always had, and Thomas immediately cut him off.

“She’s well, then?”

His eyes were as round as saucers. They seared into James's chest. Tears stung his eyes and he let them, looking away from Thomas because he couldn’t bear to see his face.

“No. She…we went to Charlestown to see Peter, and…she died.”

“Wha—“

James dared to glance up at him. He imagined he saw the same shock on Thomas's fair face that he’d bore on his own face upon seeing Thomas alive. How cruel irony could be, he thought bitterly.

“How?” Thomas asked, devastated.

James let out a sigh, trying desperately to keep from weeping. He did not want to talk about this but knew it was necessary. And in the telling of it Thomas would know the criminal he had become.

So he explained their reasons for going to Charlestown, skipping much of the drama that had played out in Nassau. He spoke of the Urca gold and the alternative way Miranda had proposed they legitimize New Providence, of Peter’s daughter Abigail and of their hazardous trip onto Charlestown’s coast. He told Thomas about the clock and Peter’s betrayal, which Thomas almost refused to believe. He rose off the bed and cursed and paced, but then he looked at James and James knew his expression told the truth of it all. Thomas cursed Lord Ashe and his dead father’s name several times before James gently pleaded for him to sit again.

Thomas did so, look of defeat swallowing up his handsome face.

James skipped the gruesome details of Miranda’s death, summing it up that she was fatally shot by Lord Ashe’s colonel. He recounted his trail and Charles Vane’s intervention and the subsequent destruction of the city. Then he quickly rambled on about the present plan they’d come up with for Williamsburg, not looking at Thomas but feeling his growing anxiety all the same.

“Stop.”

Thomas said it forcefully, one hand raised. Judgment coated his tone. James stopped speaking. The silence that followed was deafening to him. He felt like there was a lead weight in his stomach. He wanted desperately to offer Thomas some comfort, some justification for his actions but he had none to speak of, save the truth about his quest for the gold and for Nassau.

Thomas stared hard at his feet on the floor as he spoke. “So you and Miranda went to Nassau and you became…a pirate.”

James nodded. The lead weight grew heavier. He watched Thomas fearfully, terrified of the coming judgment he knew the other man would cast down on him.

Thomas turned to look at him, jaw set tight. Then he stood and walked away, stopping to lean heavily on the back of the chair. The silence between them seemed last an eternity before James could stand it no more.

“Say something,” he said, though it came out as more of a command than a plea.

“What do you want me to say?” Thomas snapped at him, turning so that the profile of his face was all that was visible. Even so James read the anger there. Thomas stood straight again, but as he turned he stumbled suddenly and collapsed in the chair with a hand to his forehead. Alarmed, James rose but before he could reach Thomas the yellow-haired man raised a hand.

“I’m all right…”

“You’re exhausted,” James said with surprise, seeing it as he was speaking it. Thomas's eyes were red with dark circles under them. James wondered if he’d been awake since yesterday, when he had dragged himself from the river and into the servant’s quarters. That seemed to be the case, and James felt a pang of guilt.

“Get some rest,” he said, nodding to the bed. “I’ll take watch.”

Thomas, slumped down in the chair with his legs sprawled out, took his hand away from his mouth and grinned.

“Watch? Like we’re out to sea?” he quipped with forced energy he did not have. James offered him a small grin in return. He stood awkwardly in front of the room, waiting for Thomas to take his advice. Their eyes met, but all the tension from earlier seemed drained away as James saw his weariness. Thomas rose and went to the bed, kicking off his shoes. He had little in the way of extra clothing to remove so he simply tucked himself under the sheets and turned towards the wall. James sat down in the chair across the room. He felt anything but tired, though the wound at his side was beginning to throb again. He was too uneasy with his surroundings to sleep. If the maid Emily should return he thought of ways he might deal with her so as not to alarm her. Thomas had spoken very little of her, though she herself had seemed to think of Thomas as a friend when James first laid eyes on her.

So he passed the time thinking of that and other things. He hadn’t even asked Thomas where the hell they were, let alone how far from the Virginia Tidewater and the sea. He thought of his ship and Vane and his new quartermaster. Surely they would be reshaping his plan by now, perhaps even abandoning it altogether. That thought filled him with anger. Vane would no doubt have taken command of his man o’war in addition to his own two ships. He would then have the power to control all of Nassau, just as he’d wanted—but James knew Nassau had become a wild card.

He figured there was still a good chance he would be needed among the crews and the island herself.

James's eyes wondered the room. The truth of it was he had to force himself to think of these things, to remind himself they were still relevant because his gaze kept returning to Thomas's sleeping form and the soft blonde hair against the pillow. So many questions he had. Thomas was reluctant to speak about his time in Bethlam. That was at least one subject James could understand keeping to oneself. James knew the reputation of most asylums as nightmarish places, and he tortured himself with thoughts of Thomas in there for so long and what he might have had to endure. He shuddered, feeling cold.

It occurred to him they had both been through their own separate hells during their time apart—and partially because of it. And perhaps even—the old and hateful thought came to him again—he and Thomas were fated to go through hell because of their actions so long ago.

James clenched his jaw tight. He stood quietly and walked over to the far right corner of the room which now felt so small and suffocating to him. He had banished such self loathing thoughts from his mind long ago where he and Thomas were concerned, or so he thought.

Yet, when he considered what life would have been like having never known Thomas, his heart throbbed in pain and he felt hollowed out and lifeless.

***

When Thomas woke the light in the room was much dimmer. He was on his back. He blinked and studied the design of the ceiling for several minutes as the fog of sleep lifted from his mind. He turned his head slightly to search for James, half expecting the entire day to have been a dream.

Instead he spotted the other man sitting on the floor, knees drawn up and back against the wall as he ran a whetstone over the blade of his cutlass. Again Thomas was surprised by his appearance. The James of old would have scoffed at sitting on the floor in such a manner, especially around Thomas. Though Thomas had known then that James was a commoner, he was also a damn fine navy officer and bred to carry himself properly and proudly, boots clicked together and hands behind his back; a curt nod and then he would doff his hat…

Thomas took in this new James. His close cropped hair was too extreme to pass for anything in the cities. He wore tight-fitting pants with scuffed-up, dusty boots peeking out from a tight-fitting protective cloth that was buckled and laced just below the knees. His dark red shirt was rolled up to his elbows, showing off the freckled and well-muscled arms there.

Thomas felt the inklings of something familiar stirring at the sight of him that caused his chest to tighten again—though this time it was not out of fear. Thomas revolted against it, reminding himself that this was a different animal altogether, so he thought.

\----------------------------

That night Emily came to into the guest house as Thomas had predicted. She seemed calmer now; though no less trusting of the stranger Thomas claimed to know. Her eyes flitted warily to him as she spoke with Thomas, bringing them more food and water. She informed him that Lord Kinnmore had been informed that Thomas was missing. He had cursed the incompetency of his staff and had moaned about how hard it was to find decent help in such a god forsaken and barbaric land. In short, Thomas was out of a job, even if he were to suddenly reappear.

Thomas raised his concern about a possible search, but Emily quelled both his and James's fears by telling them that there would be no reason whatsoever for anyone to believe a servant would be hiding out on the plantation. Kinnmore had simply assumed—and logically so—that Thomas had fled in search of better work or better pay. It was fairly common in the colonies, Emily had informed them. Kinnmore had her and the others scrutinize the belongings in every room of the Great House for fear of that other motivation for Thomas's disappearance—thievery. So, she concluded, with nothing missing it was assumed Thomas was long gone.

“Thank you so much, Emily,” Thomas said, taking her hand in his and giving her his most charming smile. Its effect had waned on her, but she still could not help but smile back, however small the gesture was.

“You’re welcome, I suppose,” she said, glancing to James, who stood idly with his arms crossed in front of the stove. “I have to take my leave of you now. I’m sorry Thomas, but I shan’t be involved in this anymore.”

“It’s all right. I understand,” replied Thomas. “I’m terribly sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you, but I’m glad to have known you all the same.”

Again, a small smile graced Emily’s lips and a flush came to her cheeks.

“I’d suggest you both be gone as soon as possible. It’s the time of year his lordship will be having guests stay over,” she said before leaving them.

James pushed himself off the wall. There were a million things he should have been thinking of during their conversation. He should have been thinking about escape and getting back to his man o’war and what Thomas was going to do now. The only thing he had been thinking about was how familiar Thomas had looked with Emily. His ease with which he addressed her, that disarming smile and the warmth that spread from him…James knew it all so well.

“She fancies you,” he said when they were alone. Thomas nodded almost sadly.

“She’s wonderful. Too kind to have put up with me.”

He dug into his shirt under his waistband and pulled out a metal flask and took a drink. James raised an eyebrow. This was new. Thomas offered him the container. Under the circumstances it seemed odd not to accept it so James did. He swallowed and smacked his lips.

“Whiskey?” he asked curiously, handing it back.

Thomas shrugged. “Kinnmore has so much of it he never notices.”

He tucked the flask back into his waistcoat without any further explanation.

They returned to their current predicament. What was clear was that they needed to leave Kinnmore’s property and quickly, as Emily had said. What was not clear to either of them in the slightest was what came next.

“My only option is to return to the sea and somehow get back to my ship,” said James. Thomas frowned. It seemed the obvious choice he supposed. Briefly he considered if James could not somehow stay in the colonies…though why he would suggest such a thing was tricky. Even as Thomas thought of it, it sounded ludicrous. Was he supposed to ask James to start a new life with him? They had only been reunited for barely two days.

The truth was Thomas was terrified of being alone here, with no more connections and certainly no friends.

“Yes,” he finally muttered. “I suppose that’s your only choice.”

The next question from James was inevitable.

“Come with me?”

It was somewhere between an offer and a command. James was looking at him with an almost hard expression, as if daring him to argue. Thomas did not understand it.

“Should I?” he replied after a moment. He sat down on the bed and leaned his arms over his legs, folding his fingers together and looking back at James.

The question seemed to throw off the pirate. He narrowed his eyes and echoed Thomas's frown.

“Where else would you go?”

“I could find another plantation, another job there,” he mused. “Perhaps try to show off my political maneuvering or give my opinions of Whitehall. Try to gain favor with the gentry.”

James's eye twitched. “You really think that could work?”

Thomas shrugged and sat up. “I do not know. It could be worth a try.”

“It sounds like an unnecessary risk,” said James, crossing the room towards him. “If you can’t manage it, what then? You would be homeless, penniless.”

Thomas did little to hide his sneer. He pulled out the flask and took another drink. “I feel that way now, so it’s not much of a difference.”

“Is that what you really want?” asked James in earnest, standing beside him but not too close. “To stay in the colonies, alone?”

Thomas let out a long-suffering sigh. “I don’t know, damnit,” he snapped. “You’re not giving me any time to think about it.”

James pulled back. Thomas looked up to see a flash of hurt go through his face. He felt the sharp sting of regret at his words. James wanted him to come with him, had assumed that very thing and that there was no question about it.

“I’m sorry,” said Thomas. “I did not mean to—“

“No,” said James forcefully. “The fault was mine. Perhaps we both need to think about this.”


	5. Chapter 5

***

They decided to spend the night in the guest house and to wake early before dawn to slip away from the estate. Since James had to return to the sea Thomas agreed to follow him down the river as far as the next town and from there…he still did not know.  
Their night was interrupted, however, most frightfully.  
Thomas heard a creaking sound. He had been dreaming—was dreaming?—and turned over in bed. He became aware of other noises that followed, including the sound of boot steps. His mind snapped awake, then his eyes. Shuffling sounds and a muffled, straining voice. He was definitely not dreaming.  
“Billy!”  
James's voice caused Thomas to jerk up in bed, hearing the distinctive sound of a pistol being cocked as he did so. As his eyes adjusted to the darkened room he made out two forms standing before him—one clearly a man, and in his clutches was none other than Emily, struggling against him.  
From the floor James rose slowly, hands held out in supplication to the intruder called Billy. As Thomas's eyes further adjusted he could make out more of Billy. His face was wild yet stern as he pointed a pistol at Thomas. Emily was clearly terrified, hands holding fast to the arm wrapped around her and the hand that covered her mouth. Billy looked over his shoulder when James shouted his name.  
“Captain!” the man exclaimed.  
Thomas processed this, though he felt as terrified as Emily looked. The word ‘captain’ was spoken with what sounded like relief and more than a little familiarity. This was undoubtedly one of James's crew members, he gathered. And he looked ready to blow off Thomas's head at the drop of a pin.  
“Billy,” James said again. This time his voice was fully in command and carried a warning with it that sent chills down Thomas's spine. He had heard James yell out commands during drill practices before, but they had never sounded quite this harsh.  
“Lower your weapon, Mr. Bones,” said James. “He is a friend.”  
Billy regarded Thomas and very slowly did as he was told, un-cocking the pistol and resting it against his side. Emily again struggled against him. Billy turned so that he could see both his captain and Thomas on either side of him.  
“I tracked you up the river,” said Billy, obviously addressing James. “I was knocked unconscious by the militia, but not before I saw you go in the boat. I had to wait for fucking ever before I felt certain no one was following me.”  
James nodded, lowering his hands and stepping towards him.  
“Release her.”  
Again Billy complied. Emily collapsed to the floor, sobbing. Billy ignored her. He seemed to relax some more knowing neither he nor his captain was in immediate danger. Still his eyes looked warily over at Thomas.  
Thomas forced himself to stand, legs feeling rubbery but quickly growing stronger as he recovered himself. He looked evenly at Billy before going to Emily’s aid. He managed to wrap his arm around her and pull her haphazardly to her feet, though his attention was not on her at all, really. Still he stood in front of her protectively. With James he still knew bits and pieces of the man, but this new intruder looked every bit of the murdering and raping pirate he’d seen or heard tales of. He had a plethora of wild-looking necklaces decorating his chest and dried mud and blood covering his clothes and arms and face. Vaguely Thomas wondered if most of the blood was his or someone else’s.  
James lit a candle.  
“Billy, this is Thomas. Thomas, my bosun, Billy Bones.”  
The two regarded each other again. This time Billy’s face had softened and he gave Thomas a curt nod. Thomas returned it. Then Billy turned back to James while Thomas moved Emily away from them and towards the door.  
“Emily,” he said in a low voice. “Are you hurt?”  
Emily stuttered and moaned and fluttered her hands about before Thomas could calm her enough into getting a coherent answer that no, she was not injured. Then she softly cursed Thomas and started sobbing again. He had to calm her again and swore to her they would be gone by dawn. She left the guest house cursing his name and leaving him feeling even more miserable. He returned to the bed and listened to the other two men.  
“…spoke to Mr. Turner before he got on the boat,” Billy was saying. “Told him to tell Silver you were still alive and that I was going after you. He’ll tell Vane. He’s the only one who can convince that bastard not to abandon the coast.”  
James was stroking his beard, listening and thinking.  
“He may have to anyway,” he said. “It will be too dangerous to stay in open water for long.”  
“There’s countless inlets and coves the Turner brothers know,” countered Billy. “He can show them where to hide until we return, but we’ve got to get back fast.”  
James nodded. “How far are we from the coast?”  
“Damned if I can judge land miles, captain,” said Billy, “But I’d wager at least fifty miles…”  
“It’s seventy miles,” Thomas interjected. “I overheard the mileage on my journey here. Seventy miles to Hampton, Virginia if you follow the river all the way back out. A journey that will take roughly a full 24 hours on foot.”  
Billy quieted, looking at Thomas with something resembling cautious respect. James fixed his gaze on Thomas and gave him a nod in appreciation. Thomas avoided looking directly in his eyes for fear of seeing the yearning for him to travel with them. He still had not made up his mind, and now he felt their time growing short. He peered out the window and wagered they had only three or four hours until dawn.  
Time had once again become his enemy, as much as it had been during his stay in Bethlam Royal Hospital. There, there had been far too much time. Robbed of his life and the man who had only recently become such a part of it Thomas had nearly driven himself truly mad by simply thinking. Now, fate was dealing him another cruel hand by not giving him *enough* time to think.

***

Billy had wanted to leave that very night. James had to argue with him and convince him to wait until just before dawn. He had given two good reasons for this decision: One, that it would be too difficult to see where they were going and what hazards may lay before them, and two, that he desperately needed to get some sleep. Thomas knew the real reason for the delay, of course, and he silently cursed himself for his weakness in making up his mind. James was risking much by waiting, and it made Thomas's heart ache to think about it.  
So many things regarding James McGraw made his heart ache, in both good and bad ways.  
Billy had insisted on spending the night just outside the guest house, keeping watch against its west facing wall that faced the servant’s quarters. That left Thomas and James inside, with James insisting Thomas take the bed again, but Thomas patiently convinced him that his wound needed the softness of the mattress.  
Thomas spent the remainder of the night tossing and turning and biting his lip and taking sips from his flask until it was nearly emptied and he felt its dizzying effects.  
Before the sun had crept above the trees the three of them had snuck out of the guest house, waiting for Thomas to tell them that the overseers were changing for the day shift. They crept past the west side of the Great House and traversed the short distance to the James River without incident. The embankment was steep and wide enough once they climbed over it for them to walk along the river’s shore without being seen by anyone on land. Billy took the lead, with James and Thomas behind him. They moved quietly as the town awoke around them, none of them speaking. Thomas glanced at James, whose jaw was set; he looked tense. Thomas shared his companions’ anxiety about putting as much distance between them and the plantation as quickly as possible, lest someone recognize Thomas and report him back to Kinnmore.  
His anxiety abated somewhat once they had been walking for the first couple of hours. Now there were boats travelling up and down the river, but they paid little attention to the trio. From a distance Thomas figured the three of them appeared as relatively normal travelers. Still his eyes continuously moved to the pistols and swords that dangled from James and Billy’s belts. He saw how James's hand kept coming up to grip his sword hilt, as though he were ready for a surprise attack at any moment. Billy did the same with his pistol. Thomas felt alienated from them, from James. More and more he was realizing just how changed the one-time navy officer was. He worried over it, fretted and began chewing his lip again. He had slipped into the servant’s quarters as they had left that morning and had stolen one of Fredrick’s stolen liquor bottles and had poured it into his flask. He took the small container out now and drank from it. James looked at him, expression blank.  
“Is that necessary now? We need to stay alert.”  
“It’s just a nip and yes, it is necessary.”  
James frowned but said nothing more.  
Thomas thought about Miranda for the tenth time that day. He had never felt a loss more keenly before, not since he was a child. He tried hard to picture her beautiful and smiling figure, smiling at him and dressed in her favorite brilliant teal dress and not how he had last seen her—crying and calling out desperately to the men who had taken him away from her.  
He took another drink.  
Billy kept them at a steady pace throughout much of the early afternoon, staying several yards ahead. They made good time, passing through less populated areas until they were away from civilization altogether and walking through a long stretch of Virginia wilderness. The river’s embankment had gradually dropped so that now the bank was even with the rest of the land. Thomas took a moment to look around him at the natural beauty. Never before had he seen such a green carpet of trees before; if the rest of the New World was like this then it must be the richest land in the world.  
“You should see New Providence if you like this,” James quipped beside him. “Not trees quite like this, but just as lush. And birds of all shapes and sizes and colors everywhere.”  
“Yes, I remember you told me about the birds after your first voyage there. You obsessed over them during dinner, as I recall.”  
James's smile was the first warm one he’d given Thomas. It further relaxed Thomas—that and the liquor he kept periodically ingesting. It was also making him lower his guard.  
“Do you genuinely like it down there?” he asked James after a beat.  
“The island?”  
Thomas nodded. James shrugged. “Nassau is much the same as Hampton or any other colony, despite being illegitimate. There are families there, people just trying to make a living.”  
Thomas noticed the coloring to James's words, as if he were trying to sell the place to Thomas.  
“A nation of thieves is populated with families?” Thomas asked dubiously. “I find that hard to believe.”  
“It’s true. I’m not implying everyone gets along, but it’s something.”  
Thomas didn’t reply and James said nothing further so they simply followed Billy. They rested just after midday, when the sun was at its hottest, under the canopy of a huge maple tree. They used the river to wash their faces and take a drink, then sat under the massive tree, with Billy facing towards the land and James and Thomas leaning against the trunk towards the river. The swoon of whiskey and the heat of the day caused Thomas to doze. He didn’t stir until he felt a hand on his arm.  
“Thomas. Come on,” said James's voice.  
Thomas startled awake. James was rising beside him. Without thinking Thomas's hand shot out and rested over the one on his arm. James looked up and met his gaze, allowing the contact to linger for a few seconds before pulling away and rising. That was something, anyway, Thomas thought; another faint trace of James McGraw.  
They continued on, with James taking the lead as evening set in. Storm clouds rolled in until the sky was charcoal and a downpour began, reminding Thomas of the London rain. The downpour was not a short one, however, and the James River began rising next to them. The embankment had also grown steep again, leaving them in a quandary.  
They hugged the bank as best they could, afraid to jump to higher ground because they were once again nearing a town. Still as the downpour continued so too did the river turn brown and continue to rise.  
“Come on,” James shouted through the rain behind him, breaking out into a fast jog. He’d seen something, Thomas realized. He followed behind Billy until James pointed out to the river, where, through the haze of rain, Thomas saw a small island. It couldn’t have been more than fifty feet away, covered in thick trees and bushes but elevated.  
“Billy,” shouted James. They stopped running and Billy came to James.  
“We make for the island. No choice. You go first. I’ll help him.”  
Billy nodded and started into the river. The current was fast, fast enough to sweep away anything that was not struggling against it. James came to Thomas and grabbed his arm.  
“We’ve got to swim to it.”  
“We’ll fucking drown,” Thomas yelled back through the pounding rain drops.  
“I’ve got you. Trust me,” said James.  
With no other choice Thomas did. James led them both out into the river where the muddy ground sloped sharply down and Thomas quickly lost his footing. James clutched his arm tight and pushed him upriver and beside him so that Thomas could not slip away.  
Then Thomas swam. He was no doubt a poor swimmer, having no experience with rivers beyond childhood. James, however, proved to be a powerful swimmer. Through some miraculous use of his body he managed to swim while keeping Thomas upriver of him at the same time, until they were close enough to the island’s bank that Billy helped pull them up.  
Thomas collapsed next to James, out of breath and limbs aching.  
“Fuck,” he muttered, looking at James. Yet James gave him a rare toothy grin in-between gasps for air, looking invigorated if anything. There was something about the playful absurdity of their situation—of James—that caused Thomas to laugh.  
“You’re absolutely ridiculous, you know that?”  
James said nothing but kept smiling, rising to his feet and offering Thomas a hand.

***

They spent the night on the island. The rain finally died down to a drizzle after dark and left them all feeling cold and miserable. The only shelter the island offered was a cluster of limestone rock that formed an overhang deep enough for the three of them to squeeze into. Even then they were barely underneath it, and after much twisting and turning Billy finally announced he was going to rest on the top of the rocks so he could maintain a lookout.  
“He’s very vigilant,” Thomas commented as Billy shuffled on the rocks above them, out of sight.  
James nodded. “He’s one of my best men. As loyal and brave as they come—uhh.”  
James winced slightly, gingerly moving his arm away from the bullet wound on his side.  
“What is it?” asked Thomas.  
“It’s nothing. It’s just sore.”  
Thomas took two fingers and peeked beneath James's coat. The bandages were red again.  
“Let me look at it,” he said.  
“I said it’s fine.”  
“You’re bleeding again,” said Thomas, ignoring his protests as he delicately peeled back the bandage. James winced again. Thomas frowned.  
“You’ve broken a few of the top stitches. You’ll need another layer against it to still the bleeding.”  
“We don’t have anything.”  
This was true. Thomas tried ripping his sleeve but it was too wet. If he’d had on stockings he would have used them but he wore none.  
“And I don’t suppose you’re wearing silk stockings under those?” he asked drolly and nodding down at James's boots. James hid a smile.  
“Certainly not. Never mind. It will stop eventually.”  
Thomas watched him dubiously for the next few minutes as James tried in vain to get comfortable while not upsetting his wound. Finally Thomas overcame a particular nervousness and moved to sit on the other side of James, snaking an arm around his back until his palm could gently press against the wound. He felt a pair of sea green eyes on him, felt James tense and pull away but Thomas held fast.  
“That’s not necessary,” James said in a small voice.  
“Just shut up and try to relax.”  
Finally James did. He settled down and let his body sag against Thomas's. They stayed like that for some time, growing sleepy. Then, just before Thomas dozed off he felt James shift and lay his head against his shoulder.

***

After about an hour of travel the next morning Billy informed them they were nearing the mouth of the James.  
“You remember all this?” Thomas had asked, gesturing to the land around them. Billy had smirked.  
“No, ‘course not. I can smell it.”  
“Excuse me?”  
James watched as Billy had given Thomas an amused look, not quite insulting, and had looked to James.  
“The air,” James had filled in. “It’s beginning to smell of salt and brine.”  
Thomas breathed deeply and found James was right.  
“I should not be surprised you would be so in tune to the sea,” said Thomas. James gave him a half grin, but Thomas had not meant it to be a light-hearted sentiment. If anything he felt bitter, bitter because the sea had always been the vessel that had taken James away from him. True, he had never thought about it in that way, not until the sea had taken him away for what he thought was the last time…  
He took a nip from his flask.  
They walked on. James's wound had stopped bleeding, though it was quite tender and he had to be careful not to let his arm brush up against it. Thomas fussed over it at first, quietly insisting he take another look at it while Billy remained several yards ahead as was his habit. For a fleeting second it crossed James's mind that his bosun seemed to be avoiding being around the two of them. It was perhaps half an hour later that Billy turned and addressed him.  
“A word, captain,” he said, nodding for James to join him and for privacy from Thomas. James stepped up beside Billy, who glanced over to Thomas and asked in a low voice, “Did you really just meet him? Captain Flint never trusts a complete stranger so easily. None of us do.”  
His tone made it clear it was more of a rhetorical question and that Billy did not believe for a moment that he had only known Thomas for three days.  
Still the denial crept up in James, all the way to his tongue, but he stilled himself, eyeing Billy.  
“You know me too well,” he finally muttered. “No, I did not just meet him. Thomas and I were acquaintances back in England, before all this.”  
Billy nodded, his chest puffed out just slightly. He looked at James as though he were expecting more.  
“That’s it, Billy. I am actually telling you the truth this time. Though I’d appreciate it if you kept that to yourself if we reunite with the crew again.”  
Billy met his gaze, eyes searching his captain’s for any sign of a lie.  
“You’re getting to be very ballsy, Mr. Bones,” said James, though his voice carried a hint of playfulness.  
Billy frowned, glancing over his shoulder again. “Yea well, someone’s got to challenge you when Silver’s not around.”  
James saw the sliver of a smile grace the bosun’s face. James quietly let loose the breath he’d been half holding. Damn Billy for being so perceptive and nosy. Not much had ever slipped past him since he’d been aboard with James. James realized he would have to make certain that Billy’s inquiries into Thomas didn’t go very far. He’d been careless two years past, when Billy had found out too much concerning Miranda. After his fall into the ocean and everything that had happened after it seemed Billy was wise enough to put that subject to rest. Then, of course, James had brought her aboard for Charlestown and had not returned with her. Billy had asked him softly about it just once and upon learning of her death he’d never broached the subject again, for which James was thankful.  
James shook himself out of that train of thought as the salt air grew stronger and the land up ahead grew flat and treeless. They were nearing the mouth of the river, and along with it the hustle and bustle of Hampton and its docks.  
“We cannot go through the town in broad daylight,” said Thomas as they all stopped and peered over the embankment. “You two will get arrested on the spot,” he finished, eyes moving over the two of them and their appearance to indicate the obvious.  
“Which means wait for nightfall,” said James with a sigh. “Billy?”  
Billy looked skyward. “That’s still four or so hours away…”  
“Do you think Silver will wait?” asked James more pointedly.  
“I think he’ll be thinking what you would think, and that would be to wait until nightfall.”  
“Then we wait.”


	6. Chapter 6

***

They spent the next few hours hiding under the cover of a willow tree and a clump of bushes that had sprouted up around it. It was away from the river but also from any roaming townsfolk; there was no reason anyone should approach their hideout, so they hunkered down in the bushes and waited.

James dozed off a few times but got little real sleep. He was starving, for one thing, as were his companions. He heard Billy’s stomach growl more than once. Thomas too looked miserable from hunger, clutching his stomach absently as he lay on his back and stared up at the soft green, draping canopy of willow branches above them.

“We’ll eat first thing once we board,” James told him, hoping to offer some comfort. Thomas smiled weakly. He shifted to reach into his waist band and pull out the flask, which James had forgotten about. He didn’t like seeing Thomas drink like this but still he held his tongue. Things would be different once they were safely sailing away from here and back to the West Indies. Once they ate and washed and changed clothes and had a chance to relax, truly relax, he and Thomas would finally be able to find each other again. They would look into each other’s eyes and everything wrong with the world would simply melt away…

James repeated the thought to himself over and over again, clinging desperately to the hope it instilled. It was the kind of hope he’d been bereft of for so long he wondered if he’d ever felt it at all.

He was relieved when Thomas could get no liquid to come out of the flask; it was empty.

“Damn,” he muttered, tossing the flask to the ground.

When night finally came they slipped out of their cover and headed back to the James River’s bank. James led them this time. They came upon the south side of Hampton, where the skirmish of four nights ago had taken place. When James looked up and to the north bank he could see the imposing figure of Fort Stover looming in the distance. No doubt it was now more heavily manned. Billy confirmed this when he spotted militia moving around its base, also heavily armed and looking ready to spring on any would-be attackers.

They needed to cross the river and reach the far south bank where it opened into the sea proper. James explained to Thomas that the man o’war couldn’t risk coming so close to the fort again and that they would need to meet her—if she were still here—in the protection of the maze of inlets and coves that formed the large bend at the end of the river. That meant swimming across and then wading through all manner of thick and nearly impassable reeds and other water plants. It was agreed that when the waters looked clear of all vessels Billy would blow his bosun’s whistle—still secured around his neck—to attract Silver’s attention.

If Silver was even there.

Thomas had nodded in agreement, though James could sense his reluctance. He had to remind himself that one dangerous undertaking after another was not what Thomas was used to. He also had to keep reminding himself that Thomas had spent the last ten years in a mental hospital and had not the first clue about the struggles colonial life brought with it—let alone the struggles of pirates.

Even so Thomas did not protest as they crossed the wide mouth of the river. Its current was still swift from the rainfall but not overwhelming. James still kept Thomas abreast of him all the same. It took a good twenty minutes to cross the river and even Billy stopped to float on his back at least once. James was impressed when Thomas did the same, needing no reassurances from him. Still he kept a fist curled against James's sleeve as they drifted down river for a couple of minutes at most before righting themselves and swimming again.

They reached the swamp-like inlet and its shallows huffing and puffing but still unseen. They waded through uneven terrain after that, slipping and stumbling as the invisible sandy ground beneath them constantly shifted. For the quarter of a mile or so they actually traveled it was exhausting work.

At last they reached the last clump of land on the inlet. James let his eyes adjust to the particular dark. Out here was the clearest, purest view, even at night. Any sailor would agree. The sea offered only moonlight and starlight, with no annoying glare or haze from lamps or candles. The sharp severity of it had always invigorated James. Now, as he searched the open waters for ships he felt the sensation wash over him yet again. The sea was his home. It always had been, no matter what life threw his way. He only hoped Thomas would be able to appreciate that.

After waiting as a brigantine slipped by them and sailed north James nodded to Billy. The bosun put the small whistle to his lips and blew. The high-pitched shrill it made echoed into the open nothingness around them. He blew it twice more, then James told him to wait.

He allowed for roughly ten minutes to pass. In truth if his ship was even out there, hiding, they did not know where or how long it might take for her to come around. James kept pushing the thought of Silver and Vane abandoning him out of his mind. It wouldn’t do to think such thoughts just now.

He told Billy to signal again and again Billy blew the whistle three times then waited. James turned to his left to look at Thomas. In the moonlight the profile of his face seemed glow, blue eyes glittering black. He looked anxious but beautiful. James could have stared at him like that for hours. He forced himself to turn away. Ten more minutes passed.

“We can’t keep this up,” said Billy. “Someone is bound to hear.”

“Wait a little longer,” said James when Billy raised the whistle a third time. Billy stilled the motion. James clenched his hands into fists until his nails dug painfully into his palms as he considered their options if the man o’war never appeared. Just when he began cursing Silver’s name Thomas's arm shot out to point.

“There, over there.”

From around the bend of the coastline came a massive black beast. James instantly recognized its bowsprit and masts and sails and even the curve of her railing. He and Billy grinned and slapped each other on the back, their tension dissipating.

“It’s monstrous,” breathed Thomas as the man o’war crept up around the bend. James looked at him, unable to suppress his grin.

“She’s a third-rate ship-of-the-line,” he declared. Thomas nodded, his expression unreadable.

“Yes. Three gun decks. And Spanish to boot.”

James's pride cooled somewhat under Thomas's cold analysis of his ship. Again he forced to remember the massive schism that existed between them. He shrugged it off and led them towards the ship as a single light came from around her foremast and flickered, signaling to them without making noise.

“Billy,” said James. “Blow twice, softly.”

Billy did so, and a moment later the light flickered again and James welcomed the creaking echoes of the capstan as it was turned to drop anchor.

He led them towards the ship at a quickened pace. Right now everyone was vulnerable, should they be spotted—both the ship and the men wading towards her.

They tripped and stumbled and finally swam towards the massive ship. Once they were close enough James watched as a launch was lowered down the hull, small figures moving about inside it. The boat came as far into the inlet as it could without running aground—James saw they actually had to push off with oars several times—before he and Billy and Thomas closed the rest of the distance themselves.

That’s when it hit James like a lightning bolt; a critical piece of information he’d neglected to tell Thomas before they boarded the ship: He could not be James McGraw here.

Three of his crew merrily greeted the return of Billy and their captain in the launch, slapping their backs and claiming they knew all along their captain was alive. James suffered through it and briefly told them that Thomas was joining them. He left no room for questions or protests but still managed to say it as merrily as he could, hoping the excitement of the moment would cause them to forget their suspicion, which it did. As they were hoisted back up James leaned close to Thomas's ear.

“From now on you must call me either Captain or Flint, not James. And never McGraw.”

Thomas looked at him sharply.

“Flint?”

James caught the recognition in his voice. He cringed, not trusting himself to reply so he just nodded instead. He should have known Thomas would recognize the name. Once more, the crushing feeling came over his chest, along with the feeling of being judged and found guilty by the man he once loved.

\----------------------------------

They climbed aboard quietly and James was pleased to see almost the entire crew gathered around, silently cheering. They wanted to whoop and yell, but someone had clearly told them not to. That someone came striding along the deck, crutch under his arm and walking with every bit of confidence as he had with two legs. Silver gave James a lop-sided grin.

“Well you look worse for wear,” he quipped. He held out his hand. James looked at it, caught off guard. He looked around at the crew and the ship. Silver had evidently taken command and had done at least a satisfactory job of it, especially considering James was standing back on his ship this very moment.

He took Silver’s hand in his own and shook it firmly. Their eyes met—it was easier each time—and James nodded his appreciation. For once Silver didn’t insist on verbal gratitude and simply nodded back. He let Silver and Billy greet each other before turning to Thomas, who had lingered behind James the entire time thus far.

“Thomas Hamilton, this is John Silver.” He turned to Silver. “He saved my life after the skirmish at Hampton and he’s in need of escaping this place as much as we are.”

He’d practiced the words in his head earlier so that the half-truths slid off his tongue like butter, too slippery for even Silver to suspect a fault with. He felt Billy’s gaze on him and he turned and fixed the bosun with an icy stare. Billy was challenging the position James had expressed earlier about keeping his acquaintance with Thomas a secret. James's stare let him know in no uncertain terms it had not been a mere request.

Silver scrutinized Thomas from top to bottom the way he did everyone.

“Mr. Hamilton, is it? Well all right then. Welcome aboard.”

Thomas and Silver shook hands.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Thomas.

“Ah! A gentleman from the sounds of it, I’ll be damned,” said Silver, turning into his cocky self once more.

James looked nervously to see Thomas's reaction. This was a lot to throw at the fair-haired man at once, he knew. James could tell he was nervous but hid it well. Now he nodded at Silver’s jest.

“Just a gentleman among other gentlemen of fortune,” replied Thomas smoothly.

Billy and some of the men laughed good-naturedly. Silver smirked. James sighed. He should have known better than to doubt Thomas's learned and quick tongue, even after all this time. It pulled at the flicker of hope in his chest that all could be as it once was between them. But even that flicker was dimmed by the possibility that Thomas might not stay, and that was something James couldn’t bear to think about.

***

He had instructed Thomas to go into his cabin while he walked with Silver around the ship, inspecting her to see that all was sound.

He also needed to appear concerned before the crew, as though his main concern was the well being of them and his ship and not the man inside his cabin.

They finally paused beside the mizzenmast as Silver caught him up on what had happened since his disappearance in Hampton.

“Vane and I had a bit of an argument, I’m sure you can imagine,” he said, resting his crutch against the pole.

“Let me guess, he wanted to take over my ship and go sailing back to Nassau.”

“More or less. But I think after Charlestown he knew better than to try and take her again. That, and whatever very thin layer of trust we have with him seemed to keep him level-headed. So instead we agreed he would take the two sloops back to New Providence while, at Mr. Turner’s behest, we waited here for you and Billy.”

“And the crew? How did that news go over?”

“Shitty, at first. They were fearful of the fort alerting the navy, but I managed to convince them that was unlikely to happen seeing as how they believed us to be running away. It’s to your credit they voted to stay.”

Silver’s deep blue eyes met James's, no jest in them. James frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’ve once again managed to pull them to you. Charlestown seems to have instilled a strong sense of loyalty in them. Loyalty for you. You have proven to the world yet again that Captain James Flint is to be feared. Bugger me if I know how you keep getting this lucky.”

As usual, Silver’s brutal but honest sarcasm miffed James, but he could not deny Silver’s words. Time and again the crew had threatened—and actually gone through with—mutiny so often that James had grown to expect it. But this time he’d managed not only to avoid that scenario, he’d also managed to gain their respect again.

James changed the subject as his mind inevitably wondered back to the man in his cabin. Thomas was waiting for him, no doubt growing impatient. James was impatient to reach the cabin, if nothing else than for the solace and security of his own quarters after a tumultuous few days and nights. He found he was less impatient, however, at the thought of the two of them finally being alone again.

Silver explained that Vane’s plan was to wait just north of New Providence and to send out a team to survey the situation at Nassau since Eleanor’s kidnapping. He had told Silver James could find the Ranger there should he be alive and should he be able to make it back within the next few days.

“Or what?” asked James. “He’s going to run back into that fucking fort and take over again?”

Silver shrugged. “He didn’t say.”

James huffed. Dealing with Charles Vane was unbelievably exasperating.

“Fine,” he said at length, desperately wanting to see Thomas and to say fuck, fuck, fuck it all to everything and everyone else at the moment. “Get us underway. Let’s go meet the Ranger.”

***

Thomas was sitting on the left window seat when James came inside his quarters. He stood as James entered. James quietly shut the door behind him and slid the lock in place.

“Everything ship-shape, as they say?” asked Thomas.

“As well as can be expected. We’re sailing back to the West Indies to try and judge the situation at Nassau. With any luck it won’t have erupted into complete anarchy.”

Thomas turned to trace the outline of the window frames with a finger. “Hmm. Anarchy. Sounds familiar. Has anything really changed there since you and I plotted out our noble-minded plan?”

James was taken off guard by the obvious tones of doubt in Thomas's voice. Doubt—and perhaps a sense of carelessness. He walked over to his desk and sat down, turning the chair towards the window and Thomas.

“Yes, for your information,” he answered pointedly so that Thomas turned to look at him. He looked tired—and slightly drunk. James screwed his eyes up at him.

“I think we’d best discuss this later. We’re both clearly exhausted.”

Thomas turned back towards the window. James watched his chest rise and fall with a heavy sigh. Something particular was bothering him but James no longer had that intimate ability to decipher what; they’d been apart too long.

So instead of asking, James rose and shuffled a full water barrel alongside the wash basin that rested in the far corner of the room, opposite the gun port. Along with clean clothes he provided Thomas with a fresh cloth and a bar of soap and left him to go to the galley and procure food for them.

It wasn’t until James had reached the galley and the smells of salted pork, ale, potatoes and fresh herbs reached his nose that he realized how starving he was. Billy was greedily devouring his dinner from a generous-sized plate and James soon joined him. They exchanged greetings then spoke little as James downed enough food to feed an army, then made a plate for Thomas.

“He gets special delivery now does he?” asked Billy with a raised eyebrow.

James let out a huff and rolled his eyes. “He’s bathing, Billy. Then he’ll eat and rest, the same as us. Besides, you barely look like you could go a round with a chicken right now.”

This Billy silently conceded to because James was right; the bosun looked as tired and haggard as James increasingly felt, now that the adrenaline of the day’s events was wearing off.

***

James gave a precautionary knock on his door before entering. He had Thomas's plate of food, feeling as though he were using it as a buffer, as a means to avoid whatever it was they needed to speak about.

Thomas ate his plateful as greedily as he and Billy had, using the window seat as both a chair and table. James pretended to be scribbling something down on the parchment in front of him, yet his eyes consistently wondered back to Thomas. While he was preoccupied with eating, James found it difficult not to watch him, if only because he was now clean and resembled more closely the man he once knew: Soft yellow hair combed with a curve to his bangs, fair skin now smooth and flawless, clothes tidy and straightened.

Thomas left the room after he ate so James could make use of the water basin. Another buffer.

They spoke little afterwards as night overtook them, both too tired to offer the other little more than snippets of conversation. James scrounged up Thomas a pillow and blanket and offered him whichever window seat he wanted for a bed. Then James crawled into his coffin-like hammock by the door. He always slept facing the door but tonight he slept towards the window, watching Thomas toss about for a few minutes before growing still. A memory came to him then, of the first time he had watched Thomas sleep. It had been in one of the guest rooms of the Hamilton household, after they had made love for the first time. He had watched Thomas for a long time, simply enjoying the sight of him, though of course James had been right next to him then…

He felt the tears sting his eyes, his chest heaving slightly as he fought back his emotions. He calmed himself with a few deep breaths, the sudden wave of melancholy rolling over him. But James was too sleep deprived to consider the deeper source of his turmoil and he closed his wet eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

***

The voyage to the West Indies was relatively uneventful for Thomas, save for his excursions above deck to mingle with some of the crew. He sought out John Silver first, spotting him idling after a conversation with two other men. Thomas had waited until he was alone to approach him. He felt edgy around all these rough-looking men, knowing full well what they were capable of. He also knew the dangers of becoming too talkative with more than a few of them and how that would cause him to have to lie more than what was necessary.

Still, Silver was quite friendly with him. He had a certain charm to him and was unusually handsome for a pirate. He seemed genuinely appreciative of Thomas's role in saving James's—or rather Captain Flint’s—life. That gave Thomas some hope for the men he was among. Perhaps they were more decent that what the world thought of them. It was an idea he used to cling to, so long ago.

Even so, he remembered that even James McGraw had spoken of pirate captains’ notoriety for being cruel and ruthless leaders, instilling fear in their crew to get them to follow orders.

He and Silver didn’t speak long, however, as other men kept approaching the one-legged quartermaster with grievances and problems they wanted his opinion on. Silver had groaned about his new responsibilities, though he secretly grinned and winked at Thomas before he took his leave.

Thomas spoke once to Billy Bones a few days later, but that conversation had gone differently. Billy was much more reserved around Thomas, and Thomas immediately picked up on his distrust. Still he treated Thomas with respect and made more than certain Thomas knew how loyal Billy was to his crewmates, whom he called his brothers. He even launched into a small monologue on the pirate’s code. Thomas sensed he was trying to impress—and it worked, somewhat.

Thomas had already done his own research on the pirate’s code all those years ago in London. It drifted back to him as Billy spoke. Thomas paid careful attention and tried to remember most of the rules. As long as he was amongst them he figured it prudent to know their ways.

Indeed, anything to help him understand James again, because he finally admitted to himself how desperately he wanted to, needed to figure out the measure of him. And of course if he could make at least one friend here amongst so many… If there was even the smallest sliver of a chance Thomas did not have to be alone, then he would do anything to accomplish that.

It was a rationale that served him well during the daylight hours. However, lying on the window seat at night with his thoughts able to stretch out before him uninterrupted, he knew better. He did not want to be with just any friendly face that would have him; he wanted the man lying across the room from him. Half his soul had been ripped from him eleven years ago and had left him to travel half a world away, and he needed it back.


	7. Chapter 7

***

They made good time until James judged they were roughly four days away from New Providence. That night a powerful storm hit. Thomas had experienced storms at sea before, but this proved to be the worst in his memory. It was not quite a hurricane, James had said. Thomas thought it must have been damn close to one as the violent rocking motion of the massive ship caused his stomach to heave and churn until he was forced to use the gun port to expel his dinner. He threw up after that as well, until there was nothing left to expel so he dry heaved instead.

For his part James could do little to comfort him so he provided Thomas with a wet cloth for his face and a glass of water. When Thomas pulled his face back in the cabin James looked half sympathetic and half entertained. Thomas glowered at him as best he could, face covered in clammy sweat.

“I’m so glad I can amuse you,” he grunted.

“I’m sorry, it’s just been quite some time since I’ve seen anyone get that sea sick. You might try not looking down next time.”

Thomas couldn’t be sure if the suggestion was sarcastic or not but he gave James an obscene gesture with his finger just the same. He watched as the pirate captain looked genuinely taken aback for a moment, and despite himself Thomas had to smile and laugh at him. That got James to laugh as well, and Thomas felt not quite so wretched.

The storm had thrown them off course enough to delay their return to New Providence by a few more days. James had done the calculations to be sure and had informed Silver, who in turn informed the crew. They had moaned but had expected it, so all on board settled in for some extra time at sea.

Thomas found he and James were able to have other small moments of humor with one another, enough to make the schism between them not so great. The moments were only ever temporary, however. Thomas learned this was at least partially due to James's role as captain. For so long he had wondered what the lieutenant had been like as an officer on deck, how James would have proudly taken to his duties. Now, those imaginings blended confusingly with what Thomas witnessed on board the man o’war.

One day the ship’s master carpenter, Mr. DeGroot, had approached James with a report of insubordination. Thomas had been watching Billy test a section of ratlines when he overheard DeGroot saying the man in question had been stealing food from the galley, a little each evening. Mr. Silver—for his part---had been busy learning how to fight with a sword and one leg, so the man’s punishment was left to the captain.

James had ordered the man to receive forty lashes with the cat o’nine, a nasty-looking whip with hard bundles of leather at each of its nine ends. The man, a portly fellow named Adams, had sulked after the sentence was given and was clearly ill at ease. When Thomas had finally laid eyes on the beastly looking whip he could well understand why. James had also ordered the men to watch, lest any of them be tempted into such a sin. Thomas could not watch without flinching each time the ship’s provost raised the whip and sent it down over Adams’s back. He looked around to see the crew staring stony-eyed at the punishment, but even they flinched and looked sorry for Adams once he could no longer hold his tongue and cried out as rivulets of blood starting running down his back.

Thomas watched James, who stared unflinching at the punishment. When all forty lashes had been delivered James walked by the limp and barely conscious form of Adam without so much as a downward glance.

Later that day Thomas heard whispers from many of the men that the punishment was too severe; forty lashes was usually reserved for concealing a stowaway, or stealing from another crew member. Some felt sorry for Adams, saying he was a good sailor but could not help his weight and therefore not his hunger either.

The event left Thomas's mind churning as he wondered about the ship. Despite the chaos of the day, he was beginning to feel more comfortable around the ship’s inhabitants—perhaps because of hearing their sentiments. He traversed the three gun decks as the afternoon waned on, disturbed by what he had witnessed.

Then, that evening at meal time Silver had invited him to eat in the galley with the rest of the men. James told him it was fine, that Silver was a good companion and that interacting with the crew might help alleviate any unease they had regarding him.

He dined at one of the many wooden tables alongside eight others, listening to a combination of idle chat and ship gossip, neither of which particularly interested him. Then someone brought up Adams again. Thomas did not know all their names, but he perked his ears up as he took a drink of ale.

“The fat bastard ain’t here ‘cause he’s asleep on his side, moanin’ like a baby,” said one.

“So? Ain’t right what Flint ordered. ‘Specially not for a man who’s never felt the lash before,” said another. Several of the men nodded. Two men in particular, whom Thomas gathered were new crew members, seemed especially interested in Captain Flint’s actions and kept on about the punishment. Finally another man glanced towards another table.

“Silver still over there?” the man asked in a lowered voice. Someone else glanced quickly over to where Silver dined across from them.

“He is.”

The man dropped his piece of bread back onto his plate and hunkered over, eyeballing the rest of the table. The dramatic effect worked and the men crowded closer to him as he spoke. Thomas pretended not to be interested—then the man looked sharply at him.

“You there, Hamilton, isn’t it? Me and the boys is about to have a conversation about the captain. You got a problem with that, you’d best leave now.”

His tone made it clear to Thomas the man knew his allegiance to James after Silver had passed on their adventures in Virginia—or at least had assumed his allegiance. Thomas thought swiftly. Then he merely shrugged and bit into his potatoes.

“Never mind me,” he said. “I have nothing against good stories or gossip.”

His carefree attitude was convincing enough for the other man, who grinned and started speaking. He addressed the two newest crew members with a leer.

“You blokes is never sailed under the likes of Captain Flint before. His only equal, they say, is Blackbeard hisself. Let me tell you about Mr. Singleton and the fight he and Flint had; it was fucking amazing, it was…”

Thomas found himself leaning in towards the man’s words. He gently touched the arm of the man beside him and inquired the speaker’s name. He was a one Alex Horner, one of the ship’s gunners. He was roughly Thomas's age, with a purplish scar running from his left eyebrow straight down to his cheek on an otherwise unblemished face. His eyes were sharp and intelligent, and despite his poor speech he had the full, rapt attention of all at the table, especially the new crew.

Thomas listened as Horner launched into his tale, giving the history of disputes between this man Singleton and Captain Flint. The tension between them had built over about five months, until it was known that Singleton was going to challenge Flint to the captaincy of a ship called the Walrus. Fascinated, Thomas stopped eating as Horner told them about how Singleton had begun openly challenging Flint’s command, even right after battle when they were taking a prize. Then he spoke about the final showdown between the two of them, when Flint had accused Singleton of stealing a page from a captain’s log.

Thomas could scarcely believe the tale Horner told, yet as he carefully watched the faces of the other crew he knew it to be true. The two new members were grinning from ear to ear as though they were watching a comedy performance at the theatre. Thomas, however, found the story to have quite a different effect on him.

Horner told how the two men had accepted a duel as the solution to the problem; right on board the Walrus’s main deck. He told of how gallantly and charismatic Flint had fought—at first—against Singleton’s larger, more hulking form, but of how eventually Singleton had bettered Flint with some nasty blows to his face. Yet Flint had persevered, flat on his back and somehow holding off the full weight of Singleton and his blade and finally gaining the advantage back.

Horner’s voice rose as he spoke of how Flint had beaten Singleton to a bloody pulp with his bare fists—and then kept on beating him.

“It was as if he was possessed by the devil hisself,” said Horner. “The most brutal thing I—we—had ever witnessed.”

And here he paused to nod at the older crew members, who evidently had shared in witnessing his tale. Thomas took the opportunity to leave them, his appetite long gone.

***

The next few days Thomas spent in much the same manner as those before. He wondered the various levels of the ship, engaging in snippets of conversation here and there but mostly keeping to himself. He joined James in the evenings and continued to sleep on the window seat. Their relationship had progressed to a few humorous jabs every now and then but then had flatlined.

It was in those moments of silence between the two of them Thomas felt the unavoidable upon him like a heavy yolk, forcing his thoughts down until there was only the past or the future to talk about. Both subjects terrified him in equal amounts because he had not the willingness to discuss the past nor a plan for the future.

He could only imagine James felt the same. And James watched him. In the seclusion of the captain’s quarters Thomas would constantly catch the other man’s gaze upon him before James would look away. Thomas never said a word because he found himself doing the same. There was so much to say but no opportune time in which to say it. The situation festered like an open wound to Thomas. That, combined with the ghost-like remnants of the emotions he once—still?—felt for James would eventually, he knew, force his hand.

\-----------------------------------

James began to notice the touches.

They were small and subtle; discreet. That he could handle. Thomas would be wondering around the ship during the day as they drew ever closer to Nassau. James would often take his usual position at the railing of the quarterdeck, gazing out on his ship and crew. Thomas would wonder up the stairs to find him there. He would stand and gaze out with him for a few minutes, then take his leave, but as he did he would run a hand gently across James's back. The first time he’d done it James's breath had hitched in surprise. He looked as Thomas had passed him, a small smile gracing the ex-lord’s lips.

That same night, before they had each gone to bed, James gave his arm a good pat, then squeezed it affectionately before turning and heading to his hammock.

They continued on in this manner for several more days. One evening James decided to join the crew in the galley for supper, which—Silver had reminded him—he had not done in some time. James was reluctant to, but he knew his quartermaster was right; the more time he spent among the men and not lording over them from the quarterdeck, the more apt they were to continue trusting him.

So he and Thomas ate in the galley together. After they had finished eating and sat sipping on their share of drink James had felt Thomas's leg brush up against his. When he looked up he saw it was no mistake. Thomas's sapphire eyes were watching him from under his brows. The look was shockingly seductive to James. He leaned on his elbow and had wrapped his boot around Thomas's, gently holding his leg in place. His eyes flickered up to see that small smile once again on the ex-lord’s face.

The following day James spent in his quarters. His thoughts were full and he wanted to be alone. Thomas had taken his leave that morning to go about the ship. James had noticed he still woke around eight o’clock, just as James had remembered. The realization was endearing to him, filling him with a cold comfort that was to blame for his current mood.

He had to force his thoughts to the current situation with Vane and Nassau, planning out options and trying to predict the possibilities of both unpredictable elements. Nassau was perhaps the easier of the two to consider. If someone or a group had taken control of the island, he would have to quickly decide whether or not they deserved the position, or—and more than likely—he would need to get rid of them. The island’s legal potential no longer mattered to him, but he would be damned if some small minded fool were going to call it his own.

Just then the cry came muffled through the door, “Sail!”

James jumped out of his seat and went outside. He craned his neck upward, squinting in the blinding tropical sun to see the lookout.

“Where?” he shouted.

The lookout pointed. “Four o’clock,” he yelled back. “Square-rigged.”

The crew who were topside grew chatty, leaning over the rail and following the lookout’s sharp eyes, squinting over the horizon. James quickly made his way all the way up to the base of the bowsprit and opened his spyglass. Indeed, there was a ship on the horizon, so far away that James could not yet tell anything else about her other than what the lookout had said—roughly east, southeast of them and with square sails.

“Is it Vane, captain?” someone asked. Chatter filled the ship that it could be the Ranger.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” said James as Silver came up beside him. James offered him the spyglass.

“If it is, I only see the one ship,” remarked Silver. “What about the other two he commanded?”

James frowned. “Hopefully they’re just out of sight. We’re still at least a day away from their position. Maintain our current speed and bring us about towards her.”

“Aye captain,” said Silver. He turned and cupped his hands, bellowing out the orders. The crew rushed to carry them out, some with eager whoops.

James crossed the ship back towards his quarters. Thomas met him in front of the helm.

“How close are we to Nassau?” he asked.

“I’d wager two to four days, which would suggest that ship is, in fact, the Ranger, if I’m to believe that Vane is waiting for us.”

“Why is it you don’t trust this other captain?”

James considered the question, slightly surprised at Thomas's sudden interest.

“Charles has a reputation for looking out for Charles, usually at the cost of everyone else,” he replied. “He follows his instincts too much. We’ve had our share of words and blows over the years, though lately he seems to have grown a level head.”

“And is that what you possess now? A level head?”

James looked at Thomas, confused by the question. Then he caught the smell of alcohol on Thomas's breath.

“If you’re trying to goad me, it isn’t working,” he replied indifferently after a moment and continued on to his quarters. Thomas said nothing but followed him, locking the door behind him out of the habit he’d picked up from James.

James took off his captain’s coat and tossed it on the back of his chair but did not sit down. Instead he leaned his knuckles over the desk top and let out a sigh, shoulders sagging. Thomas crossed over to the window seat and stood idly by it, watching him.

James felt the familiar tension between them, pulled taught like canvas stretched over too little rigging. It was wearing on him, and now he felt impatient with the other man. He looked up as Thomas took another nip from his ever-present flask, staring out the stern of the ship.

“I really wish you would ease up on the whiskey,” he said at last.

The corner of Thomas's mouth twitched. “It helps.”

James sighed again. There it was again: Thomas alluding to some inner turmoil but then clamming up again. It wasn’t as though James didn’t know they both shared enough inner turmoil for two or three lifetimes, but the silence was killing him.

And just as his lips parted to finally ask the question, he stopped himself as the old fear welled up inside him. Thomas was judging him, would judge him—and probably had already decided he didn’t like what he saw. James stood straight. He removed his knuckles and instead let his fingertips rest on the desk top. He swallowed, mouth like cotton and uncooperative. He forced himself to speak anyway.

“Do you hate me?”

Thomas turned his head sharply, eyes flashing with some unknown emotion before returning to the window.

“How can you ask me that?”

“How can I not?” James countered without hesitation. “I would understand if you did. Sometimes, I…”

James stopped, unable to finish telling Thomas how he hated himself most days. The words stuck like thick tar in the back of his throat. He felt a long string of tangled emotions creeping up behind it.

Thomas was watching him again; focus finally away from the outside world. James thought he looked as if he were struggling to keep something inside, sapphire eyes haunted. Then his jaw clenched and he moved away from the window. He was going to say something, James thought. Yet Thomas remained as silent as the grave, his hands clasped together behind his back as though he were among a group of noble-minded peers. James came around the desk and followed him, his impatience outweighing his fear.

“Thomas, please. For God’s sake, tell me something!”

Thomas whirled around angrily.

“Tell you what? What the blazes should we talk about?”

“Anything, I don’t care! We cannot keep on like this.”

“You think I don’t know it? That I don’t fight every fucking day to say something to you, to tell you…but then it all gets lost in this mess of Miranda and piracy and my father. And I don’t know who you are anymore, James. I don’t know.”

Thomas looked at him in agony, eyes moist. James bit down on his tongue and swallowed hard. He did the only thing he knew how to do, which was to turn his feelings into a sneer on his lips. He stepped close to Thomas.

“Everything I’ve done, every ship stolen, every throat slit, I did trying to achieve your dream, our dream. Do not think for a second I did not! Miranda knew this, she understood it—“

“Don’t pull her into this!” Thomas spat back, voice near hysterical. “She should have never gone to Charlestown. Christ, she should have never gone to Nassau…”

“And where the fuck else would we have gone?” snapped James. “She would have lived out the rest of her days a complete pariah; you know that!”

Thomas looked at him evenly, a fire still burning behind his eyes, though James could tell he’d conceded the point.

“There were no simple solutions to our problems, once you were taken away,” James said. “I did what I thought was right. I was so furious, Thomas, so fucking mad what your father and Whitehall did to you, I could not let that go. Not ever.”

James was quietly seething. He stared down at his boots, chest heaving. His string of tangled emotions was choking him; he’d managed to keep it all in a neat little knot for so long, deep down in his stomach where it could never hurt him. Now it had come unfurled and James didn’t know if he could wretch it down again. He felt Thomas's gaze boring into him but he was afraid to meet it.

“James,” said the barely audible voice.

James squeezed his eyes closed. Here it came, at long last. He’d already been judged by Peter Ashe and Charlestown, but now this final judgment would break him.

James lifted his head. The sapphire eyes glittered fiercely, his jaw set. Thomas moved swiftly forward and attacked James. On the lips.

He grabbed the pirate captain on either side of his face and forced his lips to James's in a hard kiss. James stepped back, heart leaping to his throat in shock. His hands came up to fumble at Thomas's but Thomas did not let go. He forced his tongue against James's lips until James gave up and let him in. Thomas kissed him fiercely, lips and teeth smacking against his own. His legs nearly buckled under him but Thomas caught him, one arm falling down to grab around his waist. A sound escaped James's lips, something between a moan and an outcry: “Huh-Unhh.”

Thomas turned them around and forced James backwards until his back collided into the stern wall with a heavy thud. His fingers traced all over James's face, lightly clutching underneath his jaw. James finally gave in and stopping struggling against him. He reached his hand around and grabbed a hold of the nape of Thomas's neck, fingers raking through his hair. Thomas broke his lips away long enough to let a low moan escape him, then he began kissing James's neck hard enough to leave bruises, teeth dragging across James's collarbone and Adam’s apple.

James panted and groaned and felt Thomas grind against him and the stiffness that grew against his crotch. He wasn’t certain he knew what the fuck was happening, but he couldn’t stop it, not if he even wanted to, which he did not.

Thomas spun him round like a top against the stern wall and pressed him into it with a hand into the small of his back. The all-too familiar motion sent a wave of heat through James, all the way down to his groin. He turned his head to make out Thomas all but ripping into his own trousers, tearing at his waistband until he was free. James's breath hitched in his throat. He pushed himself off the wall just far enough to undo his own trousers. Thomas yanked them down from behind, hand pressed against James's back again. Then he paused.

“Do you want this?” he asked in a rough-hewn voice.

James struggled to answer, hands becoming fists against the wall. He nodded.

A strangled “Yes” was all he could manage.

Thomas did not wait for further encouragement. He spat into his hands and massaged James's cleft, then spat again and applied it to himself. James nearly stopped breathing in anticipation as Thomas positioned himself and pushed himself in. A burst of heat flooded James's senses too quickly. He gasped as Thomas pulled out and pushed back in again. James clamped up against him at first, feeling the burning sensation, but as Thomas worked him James loosened up. Still, Thomas gave him little time to adjust before he was ramming into him. James tried not to moan, pushing his hips into Thomas's rutting. Thomas grabbed a hold of his thighs hard and pulled himself inside James.

James finally moaned as he opened to take all of Thomas's hot girth.

“Nuh, goddamnit,” he said breathlessly.

Thomas slowed just enough to draw himself up the length of James's back, hot and heavy breath just below his ear. They found a hard and chaotic rhythm, and James felt like he would split wide open. He wanted to, to have Thomas be the one to do it, destroy him from the inside out. He wanted the pain forced on him for all the wrong choices, all the wrong thoughts that had buzzed ceaselessly through his head since that fateful day so long ago.

Thomas grunted, breath coming shorter and shorter. His fingers dug painfully into James's thighs, pulling mercilessly at them as he forced himself inside. James felt the explosion building, felt Thomas roll his hips in a wide arch that sent another wave of heat through him. Thomas bit down on his shoulder. James dug his nails into his palms until they stung, forehead up against the wall. He clenched against Thomas's erection, causing hurt to mix with his ecstasy.

They came almost at the same time. James grabbed himself as he spilled his seed, pulling furiously at his cock as Thomas let out a low cry and spasmed inside him. James's stomach flipped with the rolling pleasure, eyes going up in his head. When it was done they remained motionless for several minutes afterward, each trying to catch his breath. Then Thomas slid out of him.

James slowly—very slowly—pushed himself off the wall and turned around. He grabbed the rag that always hung out of his pants and cleaned himself with it. Thomas used a handkerchief. James quickly fixed his pants and disheveled shirt and started towards his desk chair but instead ended up sliding down the wall a few feet from where he’d been pushed up against it. His legs were like rubber and his head was dizzy. He watched as Thomas came to him, face shining with sweat and yellow hair mussed. He haphazardly collapsed into a sitting position in front of James, one hand over James's knee.

James thumped his head against the wall and closed his eyes, willing his head to clear and his senses to return to him. They said nothing for several minutes. James focused on listening to Thomas's breathing slow down.

“I’m sorry,” said Thomas in a shaken voice. “That was rough. I did not mean—“

“It’s all right,” James said softly, giving a small shake of his head. He lifted his hand and placed it over the one that lingered on his knee. Thomas met his gaze and they simply looked at one another for a long time. James still saw something burning behind Thomas's eyes. Surely it was a mirror image of his own tangled emotions. He felt as ashamed as he did satisfied.


	8. Chapter 8

\-------------------------------

In two days time they were close enough to clearly see the other ship looming on the horizon, so close to Nassau. It was indeed Vane’s flagship. James used his spyglass to see behind her, where the blackish outline of New Providence Island lay. They were still on her northern side, opposite of Nassau’s port which lay to the south. James had them sailing to come up beside Ranger when things went wrong.

Thomas was with Mr. Turner under the mainmast, imparting his knowledge of the ship’s rig to Thomas. He was throwing out impressive numbers, such as how the sails covered roughly 6,150 square feet when set, with close to twenty five miles of rope running through 730 blocks that held up the masts.

“Where did you learn that?” asked Thomas, perplexed.

Turner shrugged. “Read it in a book once.”

They exchanged a laugh that was abruptly cut short by the rumble of close cannon fire and a loud splash.

“What the fuck?” James said, taking his eye away from the spyglass and turning with the rest of the crew as Ranger fired towards them, all her gun ports opened.

Silver was by his side. “Please tell me that was an accident.”

James raised the spyglass. He watched as Ranger’s gunners readied more than just another warning shot.

“Guns at the ready,” James bellowed out to the ship. “Bring her about fucking fast to starboard!”

Billy appeared on the gun deck and quickly repeated the second half of the orders. Not knowing who was firing at them, he moved quickly among the men and threw a bewildered look up to his captain, who had no words for him other than to jerk his head toward Ranger. Billy moved like lightning over the ratlines and jumped down to join them, looking out at Vane’s ship.

“He’s fucking mad,” said Billy.

“Get down!” said James as the first volley of fire came from Ranger. James clenched his teeth, fully expecting to feel his ship shudder and splinter around him, but only a very few grape shots hit her. James stood back up and searched the decks for Thomas. He spotted him across the deck, ducking down beside Turner. He crossed the ship and grabbed Thomas’s arm.

“Get below, now.”

Thomas needed no other encouragement and nodded, jumping over the railing and to the first gun deck, and then running to the hatchway.

James was about to order the gunners to fire when Silver raised a palm.

“Wait! Look. The coward!” he spat.

James rejoined him and Billy against the starboard side, watching as Ranger now pulled away from them at a clipped pace.

“Go after that bitch,” James snarled. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Silver and Billy exchange looks, either at their captain’s obvious fury or because of the Ranger’s bizarre behavior or both.

Silver relayed the order. By now Ranger was almost past the man o’war’s stern. She fired out chain shot as she went by. It clipped the mizzenmast but did little else except further incite the rage of the ship’s captain. The crew shouted out angry curses aimed at Charles Vane. Many of them had been begging for an excuse to continue the feud between the two captains, and now it seemed they had one.

James ran to the front of the ship, stepping up to the base of the bowsprit and wrapping a hand around a line as the man o’war came about. It took several minutes to maneuver a ship so large to turn so tightly, but once she had James ordered all sails dropped for full pursuit.

They had scarcely made it up to five knots, he figured, when suddenly the Ranger’s black was lowered and her white flag was raised. She slowed down as well.

“Reduce speed and fire on my mark,” James yelled, cupping his hands as the loud order echoed out to his crew, who scrambled to comply.

The Ranger, however, offered no resistance as the man o’war pulled up along her broadside. Her gun ports closed. James ran to the starboard side railing as his ship came within boarding distance of the smaller square-rigger. And there appeared Charles Vane. He saw James and approached the Ranger’s railing so that the two captains stood directly across from one another.

“You goddamn asshole,” James shouted across the way. He let loose a litany of other curses, all of which echoed all over both ships for all to hear, amidst his own crew’s clamoring.

Vane finally cut him off.

“Will you shut up for one minute,” he shouted back, though his voice was shockingly calm. “It was a ruse, James. Nassau’s port is being patrolled by Benjamin Hornigold. Soon as he saw me, he opened fire, fucking destroyed one of my sloops. I had to retreat, had to think of way to keep you away as well.”

James glared at him, mind reeling as he considered Vane’s words. Once again Silver had appeared at his side. His crew had quieted, though some obscene shouts against Vane still rang out. Vane raised an eyebrow. James ran a hand over his beard, then reluctantly turned and shouted, “Shut up, all of you!”

The man o’war was instantly quiet. Silver touched James's arm and pointed to Vane’s stern.

“I think he’s telling the truth, believe it or not,” said Silver.

“See?” said Vane. “I barely made it out myself.”

For the first time James looked to the smaller ship’s stern, which had been chewed through with several well-aimed shots, the raw wood exposed underneath.

“Would it not have been easier to send out a launch and simply tell me?” James asked with measured patience in his tone.

Vane shrugged, then smirked. “Got your panties in a twist, did I? You really think I’d be that bad of a shot? Fire at you and miss?”

James ignored the barb. “We need to talk.”

 

James startled when he swung open the door to his cabin, where Thomas was standing close enough for the door to nearly hit him. His forehead was creased with worry lines.

“I heard,” he said. “Who is Hornigold?”

“He is…was…another pirate captain. He and I had a falling out a few months ago. I knew he was upset when he lost his crew to me but I never thought he’d take things this far. I’m going over to the Ranger to talk with Vane about what our next move is. Stay around Silver or Billy if you come topside again, just in case.”

Thomas nodded his understanding, which was that without James on board the men were more likely to start asking him questions and let their curiosity get the better of them.

James turned to leave but stopped. He turned back to Thomas. His expression looked as guarded and cautious as ever, and when it was aimed at him it made Thomas want to drink. However, James surprised him by giving him a soft—if not also cautious—kiss on the lips, which Thomas returned, letting out his breath into James's mouth. James let the kiss linger for another second before he pulled away.

“Be careful,” said Thomas, sapphire eyes catching James's sea green ones. “I don’t suppose I have to tell you the dangers of political games.”

James caught the meaning behind the dark jest about their past and nodded solemnly.

***

“Right past the left bend there is where he was waiting,” said Vane.

He and James stood looking out at New Providence. Charles had pointed to the far side of the island where Captain Hornigold had evidently been waiting for either his return or James or both of them.

“It’s worse,” Charles confessed, turning to face him. “As I said, there were two other ships with him. My lookout managed to identify who he thinks is commanding one of the other ships. Said it was Mr. Dufresene, your man from the Walrus.”

James's eyes twitched. “What?”

Charles nodded. “He was almost certain.”

James clenched his jaw together. “That mutinous fucker. I should have killed him when I had the chance.”

“Something else too.”

James sighed. “What?”

“Speaking of the Walrus, she’s anchored in the harbor, and she’s been fixed up.”

Now James threw him a truly bewildered look. He left the railing and did a complete turnaround before facing the other captain again, one palm held out as if to steady himself.

“You’re saying someone has brought the Walrus back to Nassau. Back from—“

James stopped as his words caught in his throat. The massive implications of what his mind was just beginning to process had caught up to him. Vane looked at him gravely and slowly nodded.

“Back from the island where the Urca de Lima wrecked. Which would mean the gold is—“

“The gold is on board the Walrus,” finished James. “Fuck!” 

“I don’t think Hornigold knows that yet,” said Vane. “No way he could.”

“Yes there is,” said James through clenched teeth. “Dufresne.”

“You’re certain?”

“No. I don’t know if Hornigold could come to that conclusion on his own or not. For all I know he is one of the men Silver warned about.”

“The fuck are you on about?”

James stopped, realizing he had not imparted to Charles any part of what Silver had told him after Charlestown concerning his shipmates’ betrayal. He had not wanted to either, for what was then a good reason; he still didn’t fully trust Vane. He certainly didn’t trust him where the gold was concerned, but that seemed a moot point now.

If Benjamin Hornigold had taken over Nassau with the help of his old quartermaster—who no doubt still harbored hatred for his old captain—then James knew he would need help in reclaiming it.

And, of course, the help would have to come from Vane. Again.

They spoke at length about possible methods to go up against Hornigold. The most sound of them involved hunting down other ships, dividing up cannons, shot, and crew from both the man o’war and the Ranger for a third or fourth ship to add to their collaboration, then waiting for an opportune time to strike at Hornigold.

James returned just before sunset to his ship, where the men anxiously awaited his word. He gathered everyone to the main gun deck and explained the situation to them. The dire situation with their home at least got them to more or less accept further allegiance with Charles Vane with little protest. James also fired them up over taking another prize and promised them each an extra share of rum once they did. Then he told Silver to round up the ship’s musicians in the galley and to let the men relax before tomorrow.

\---------------------------------

Thomas became more and more used to his temporary, floating home in the days that followed. Captain Flint and Captain Vane had each plotted separate courses to go hunting, so for now the ship was back to practicing its daily routines. He was never completely relaxed when he was away from James however, and he learned which of the crew to avoid. To help with his nerves he continued carrying around his flask. James had made the mistake of pulling out the rum he kept under his desk one evening. He’d reluctantly let Thomas fill his flask, telling him once again he didn’t wish for Thomas to drink so much. And Thomas had almost decided to quit then and there. The concern on James's face had moved him, but the thought of not having any liquor almost frightened him and he’d changed his mind again.

Most of the crew seemed fine with his company; he kept to himself except when spoken to, and then he always found a joke to tell and made them laugh. Witty humor, it seemed, was his greatest asset, because the men seemed to respect him for it.

There were a few bad seeds he had to deal with, however. They threw him dirty or angry looks though they had yet to say anything to him. He had not the slightest idea what their grievances with him were until he asked Billy Bones.

“It’s ‘cause you’re not one of them, not a real crew member. They think the captain favors you, and that makes them suspicious as to why. They don’t particularly trust Flint, so anyone close to him they question.”

“And is that what you think as well?”

Billy had given him a long hard stare before answering. “I don’t care that you’re not a brother, but anything about Flint’s past does concern me. He’s lied plenty of times about it, even putting the crew in danger for some damned personal quest having to do with the Barlow woman who died in Charlestown. So yea, you could say I’m a bit edgy about you. Still, I’d never lay a hand on you. Just stay away from the others.”

And Billy had pushed past Thomas, his words about Miranda stirring up the feelings he still struggled hard against. Even so there was something very honest about the bosun that caused Thomas to believe that Billy was not a threat to him. In the end Thomas decided that his loyalty to not only his shipmates but to James's cause seemed to keep his better nature in the fore.

He did, however, discover the group of three or four men who did not like him were a very real threat.

It had been just over a week since they’d left the waters around New Providence and Thomas had taken to standing at the edge of the quarterdeck in the evenings and watching the sunset from the stern. His time spent in Bethlam Royal Hospital and its dungeon-like rooms and corridors had given him a new appreciation of Nature’s beauty. London could be quite a sight on a clear and sunny day, but there were so few of them. Here, however, in the West Indies, Thomas was greeted by bright sunny days nearly every day. They led to glorious sunsets at dusk and he was determined to enjoy them despite everything else.

So it was he was watching as the last rays of light slipped beyond the horizon and causing the sky to turn a lovely lavender that he was approached by three pirates. The very same three who did not like him.

One of them was bald and well-built, with a heavily tattooed arm whose hand hovered over his scabbard. Another one had long yellow hair that he kept in a ponytail and wrapped with a blue bandana. He had several scars on his arms. The third one, who spoke first to Thomas, was the shortest of them but also the wildest looking, covered with piercings and tattoos.

They were the closest to the barbaric depictions of pirates England loved talking about and circulating images of in anti-pirate propaganda pamphlets. These were the men Thomas had fought so hard for pardons for.

“’Ello mate,” said the short one, dark humor shining in his eyes as he came up beside Thomas at the railing. From the corners of his eyes Thomas watched as the two other men stood to his left and right, effectively blocking off any escape route.

“Me and my friends here got a bit of a bone to pick with you,” the short one continued. “You’re new, and clearly not one of us, so let me fill you in on how things work here. You see, every man on board a ship has his duties. We do our duties and earn our keep. But you, you ain’t got no duties. Seems like the captain’s forgotten to give him some, don’t it lads?”

The other two pirates said nothing but kept their arms crossed. One of the smiled at Thomas and Thomas felt his flesh crawl at the sight.

“Well the captain’s got a lot on his mind, so I guess it’s up to me to give you your duties,” said the short one. He stepped closer to Thomas and before Thomas could react his fist slammed into Thomas's stomach. It knocked the air out of him and he doubled over, clutching his stomach as pain ripped through him. He was jerked upright by a hand painfully grabbing his hair.

“Come one then, show him his duties,” said the short one again, still gripping Thomas by the head. The other two closed in on him…then stopped and looked at their ringleader in sudden confusion, whose eyes had gone white. They spun around just as the short one let go of Thomas and said in surprise, “Captain!”

Thomas now saw James ascend the stairs to the quarterdeck at break-neck speed. The look on his face sent the two men before Thomas scrambling back against the railing, pleading and pointing and shamelessly blaming their leader.

“Captain,” said the short one again, finding his voice and edging away from Thomas. “We was just having a bit of fun—“

James drew his sword and pressed its tip up against the man’s jugular, shutting him up. Thomas stepped back. He was in shock and awe, suddenly wondering if he was going to witness James cut the man down where he stood. James pressed the blade until a drop of blood appeared on it and the man whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut and begging for forgiveness. James's entire face was red. Thomas saw the veins at his neck and temple bulge.

“If you ever fucking so much as look at him the wrong way again, I’ll slit your throat. Understand?” James demanded in a heated garble of words.

The man stammered out his understanding.

“That goes for the two of you as well,” bellowed James, turning and pointing with his sword at the man’s accomplices, who cowered before him and sputtered out their apologies.

Thomas saw that the event had attracted a crowd and that all the hands who had been on deck at the time were now watching them. He noted they all wore the same stony expressions as they had the day Adams was flogged.

Realization dawned on Thomas that it was not the violence or the threat of it that caused their grave faces. It was their captain’s anger.

Even as the thought hit him, James had started beating and kicking the guilty man, shoving him up against the railing and delivering blow after blow to the man’s face, then using his boot once the man slid down the railing. Thomas's stomach churned. This was too much.

“Captain,” he said. The word tasted funny on his tongue. James ignored him, fixated on kicking the ever-weakening form beneath him, face one of white-hot fury.

“Captain,” Thomas shouted, stepping forward and grabbing hold of James's arm. James fought to shrug off his grip but Thomas held fast. He grabbed a hold of James's other arm.

“James,” Thomas said directly into his ear. “For God’s sake, stop this! Stop! I’m all right.”

James's boot stopped kicking. He turned his head and seemed to notice Thomas for the first time. He blinked, chest heaving and face still red as a beet. Thomas very slowly released him and stepped back, well aware of how many eyes were on them. Still, he was ready to physically tackle James if he needed to; crew be damned.

But James seemed to be recovering. He looked down at the huddled and bloody man on the floor, then over to his companions who were shamelessly gawking at their captain in pure shock.

In fact, as Thomas turned to see, nearly every man present was gawking at James in much the same manner—and at Thomas. Clearly, he figured, they had never known someone to intervene when the captain was beating the shit out of one of them. Thomas didn’t care what they thought. He turned his attention back to James, who had dragged the man to his feet and threw him into the other two men’s arms.

“Take him below. Clean him up,” said James. His voice was calm again and nothing like the near-inhumane tone Thomas had heard from him only moments ago. James looked at Thomas pointedly as he passed by him and left the quarterdeck. The crew gave him a wide berth. Then one of them barked out, “Back to work, you swabs!” and all resumed as though nothing had happened.

Thomas knew that was an illusion as he left the quarterdeck a few minutes later. He could practically taste the tension in the air, heard the hushed whispers as he passed by. He took a long drink out of his flask.

He closed and locked the cabin door behind him as he entered. James was standing in front of a water barrel, dipping his hands into a bowl to clean them. Thomas's patience was completely worn away and he had no thoughts towards filtering himself as he marched across the room to James.

“What in the blazing hell what that for?” he demanded. “You could have killed him. He was a thug to be sure, but Jesus, James.”

“What about it?” James snapped back, shooting him a look. “He attacked you. Any crew attacking another crew member is a punishable offence. What did you think, I was going to give him a slap on his hand and send him on his way?”

“Don’t give me that. I’m not an idiot. I know there’s procedure to be followed, even among pirates! You could have whipped him, should have, within reason. What I just witnessed was not within reason, it was fucking madness!”

James gritted his teeth together as a pained expression came across his face.

“It was because it was you,” said James more softly. “Don’t you understand? This is how it is now. This is how I am now. The man you knew, James McGraw, is dead. The last vestiges of him died with Miranda.”

“Bullshit. I don’t believe it.”

“Why not?” James asked miserably. The mask had fallen away again and Thomas saw the pain in his eyes. Thomas stepped up to him in earnest.

“Because you’re still the same man inside,” he said. “Because despite all the horrible things you’ve done you’re not evil. You’re not what the civilized world says you are, though I suspect a part of you wishes for it to be so. You’ve always wanted to hate yourself for who you are, I know. But you cannot. And because…because I think I still love you, and I could never love evil.”

Thomas dropped his gaze to the bloodied bowl of water. He had not meant to say that, not quite in the way it came out. It was cruel to tell someone you only thought you loved them.

James turned away from him. By now Thomas knew what that meant, that he was battling for control. For the second time that day Thomas threw caution to the wind and put himself in front of James, ignoring his need for a personal moment.

James's eyes were brimming with unshed tears as he tried looking away from Thomas again. Thomas planted the flat of his palm against James's chest. James looked down at it. Thomas watched the Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. Finally James met his gaze again.

“You make me a better man,” James said. “You did before. Only now, you’re making me feel so much guilt I can scarcely bare it.”

“Then I will bear it with you,” Thomas replied, as naturally and truthfully as if Time had not stolen so much from them.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James and Thomas finally have some sweet time together, and by that I mean this chapter is mostly smut. :)

***

Two nights later James informed him of their relative latitude and his best guess at longitude. They were roughly 300 nautical miles southwest of Nassau and nearing a long stretch of cays and slightly larger islands, all of them unpopulated by man.

“I want you to come with me,” James told him that night. “There’s a particular island I want you to see.”

“You mean now?” Thomas asked, confused. “Right now?”

“Yes. We can take a boat. It’s only a mile away. No one will notice.”

“You want me to sneak out with you,” Thomas clarified, a smile creeping across his face and an eyebrow raised. James could not help but smile back mischievously at him.

 

Thomas was surprised to see Billy Bones standing at the starboard side railing, arms crossed and apparently waiting for them. He nodded at his captain, then added a frown to his nod at Thomas.

“We’ve got to be lowered down,” James explained. Thomas nodded. The night was nearly pitch black, save for a faint low of light creeping through the cracks from below decks. Only a skeleton crew ran the ship at night, and most of them were dozing off as far as Thomas could tell.

None of them noticed the three of them standing by one of the long boats.

James quickly ushered him in. Thomas carefully swung himself over the side of the ship, feeling a surge of fear upon seeing the long way to the water. He’d boarded and unboarded ships plenty of times but never at night. The sea was like a black, writing thing, with untold numbers of creatures waiting just under the surface. Still as soon as he found his footing he let out a breath. He heard James whispering to Billy above him.

“…I didn’t ask why,” he heard Billy say. “Long as you’re not off planning another quest for vengeance, I don’t care what you two do. Just…be careful.”

“That sounded almost sincere,” said James drolly.

“Yea well, Silver’s rubbed off on me I suppose,” replied the bosun. Thomas found himself grinning at that sentiment. Despite Billy’s cool mannerisms and claims of James being untrustworthy he certainly seemed devoted to him.

Thomas was beginning to see—in some ways at least—his justification in standing up for these men against the English government. As he always had known, they were men the same as he.

Now if only he could keep James a good man and not one of the monsters the world thought him to be…

James climbed in the boat beside Thomas, taking hold of one of the ropes to the pulley and working it with Billy. The long boat slowly but steadily descended towards the writhing black waters that now glittered under the moonlight peeking out from the clouds. Once they hit the water Thomas helped James row, which was no easy task with only two men in a boat designed to transport twenty. Once they got going however they slid through the water with relative ease. Thomas was trusting James to know where they were headed. His own eyes kept playing tricks on him each time he thought he saw a clump of land.

After several minutes James told him to slow his rowing. Thomas picked up on the distinct sound of small waves crashing; a beach. They came to a gradual stop as the boat rubbed up against land and Thomas could make out the solid shape of coastline and trees beyond it.

Once on shore James led him towards the wooded interior without so much as a word. They didn’t travel far before he stopped at the base of a particularly wide and short tree with a gnarled trunk. He pulled back a large tarp to reveal an even larger sea chest underneath. He pulled out keys from inside his waist band and unlocked the massive, iron lock. The lid creaked open.

“Doesn’t look like anything’s been touched,” he mused as he rummaged through it then closed it again, looking satisfied. Thomas's patience was finally at its end.

“James, what on earth are we doing here?”

Under the dull moonlight James smiled, eyes twinkling. He motioned to the lantern he’d had Thomas bring. Thomas lit it and handed it to him. James held it out and continued walking through the woods. He seemed to know exactly where he was going.

“I’ve already scouted out this island,” he said over his shoulder as Thomas followed him.

“It’s the perfect location; the smooth and open anchorage to the south we just used, and to the east, north, and west, nothing but a jagged and rocky coast so no ship or man could enter. Plus, you’ve got these…”

James stopped and looked up, flicking a wrist to one of several large hills that drew up over the tree line and disappeared.

“Lookout spots that give you a view of the entire island, depending on weather, of course. And best of all…”

He thumped his boot on the ground. “Solid soil underneath this far inland. No sand, good for burying.”

He met Thomas's gaze, that same sparkle in his eyes. Thomas furrowed his brows, still not grasping what all this was supposed to mean. Then he looked back down at the ground and James's coy monologue suddenly became clear.

“You want to bury the gold here?”

James nodded. “If I ever retrieve it, yes. There’s far too much of it to be exposed to roaming eyes. It needs to be someplace safe, where the Spanish won’t find it again. Or the English,” he added after a beat.

Thomas thought for a moment, speaking slowly.

“Before I found you again, if someone had told me of a pirate captain who did what you did to acquire this gold, I would have laughed them out my front door. But since you say that same gold—all five million dollars of it—is somehow inexplicably on yet another ship and has moved yet again, I’m half inclined to believe you can actually pull this off.”

James cocked an eyebrow at him. “Doubting Thomas, now are you? I seem to recall me telling you something similar eleven years ago.”

And look how well that turned out, Thomas almost said out loud but stopped himself. Dark humor seemed a comfortable medium between the two of them now, but it made Thomas remember all the things he needed to say to James. Before he got the chance though James was whisking him back to the edge of the woods and to the sea chest, telling him how he’d stored some supplies and was rambling on excitedly now about ways in which to get the Urca gold to the island. He spoke about giving out shares to his men and how happy it would make them even though he knew they’d waste it all on drinking and gambling and whoring. He spoke of how he’d stash the majority of it here, with high hopes that his crew and other pirate crews could still use it to better themselves if they so wished.

He told Thomas he no longer cared about how the world saw them but that every man should at least have a means of bettering himself if he so desired.

Thomas heard more than a shadow of himself in James's lofty speech.

By the time they had drug the heavy chest onto the beach Thomas's mind was full of images of this gold and how James wanted to spend it.

The chest, as it turned out, contained a full-sized canvas tent, along with blankets and a few food supplies and fresh water. It was all in case he ever became stranded on the island, James explained, mentioning briefly some of his previous adventures. He spoke of nearly getting killed and of mutiny as though they were commonplace, and Thomas shuddered.

They pitched the tent, and Thomas realized they had not even spoken about spending the night on the island yet somehow he was agreeing to it all the same.

Once it was pitched they stepped inside and covered the ground with the blankets. James fidgeted with the tent flap, pinning one side of it back so that the cool night air drifted in. Thomas took a seat on the small chair that James said he’d found washed up on the island the last time he’d visited, catching his breath. James was also panting and covered in sweat. He shrugged out of his coat and tossed it on the blankets, then took off his shirt as well and reached for the jug of water in the sea chest.

Thomas followed his movements, letting his eyes stare brazenly at James's body. At first he inhaled sharply at the sight of the scars; there were at least half a dozen on his front that Thomas could see. His heart lust faltered and nearly disappeared under this new source of sorrow…God only knew the things James had suffered through to attain such a collection of wounds; he could not fathom it. For some reason it had never occurred to him that James would be so marked. Ironic, then, when he himself shared the same burden after his trials in Bethlam.

Despite it all, he felt his stomach flutter at the sight.

Looking past the scars Thomas saw the beautiful form he used to know so well. James had always been a wide, well-built man as many long-time seamen were, but now much of his bulk was replaced by sheer muscle. Thomas's eyes roamed over the heavily freckled arms that he knew so well, the rough-hewn hands that could be so gentle and caressing under the right circumstances. He watched as James poured the water over his face and let it run down over his chest, soaking the matt of hair there. Thomas's breath stuttered at the sight and he felt himself harden under his trousers and suddenly all the heavy conversation he had planned on having with James drained away.

Oblivious to the effect he was having on his friend James dried off and took a sip of the jug, then offered it to Thomas. Thomas gripped the arms of the chair fiercely, not moving to accept the jug.

“Sit down and do not move,” he said.

James gave him a look.

“What is it?”

“Just do it.”

James complied, looking baffled.

“God,” Thomas breathed, eyes once again drinking him up. “Do you know what you do to me?”

He watched James's face as he reached into his trousers and undid them, freeing himself and immediately stroking the stiffness there. James gasped audibly, lips parting.

“Thomas…” he began in a warning tone but didn’t finish it. Thomas closed and opened his eyes slowly as he pulled at himself. A moan escaped his mouth. He was getting harder by the second. He looked at James, whose muscles were tensed as he gripped onto the blankets with two fists now, staring at Thomas work himself. Thomas felt his eyes lid over. He hummed a sound of pleasure in the back of his throat. He gazed up at James through his brow, watching in delight as James's own eyes became heavy with desire, his chest rising and falling with heavier breaths. James drew up a knee and swallowed. Thomas pulled on himself harder as he watched that Adam’s apple bob up and down on James's throat, remembering what it was like to kiss him there.

And then the flood of memories of sex with James hit him full force and he moaned louder this time. James looked ready to explode off the ground any second and devour him whole.

“Come here,” Thomas said in a thick voice.

And James leapt off the floor and was hovering over him in a matter of seconds, mouth covering Thomas's greedily as he grabbed Thomas's hair and pulled back, exposing his throat. Thomas hummed again as James planted trails of kisses all along the soft skin there, biting here and there and scraping his teeth against the gentle slope of Thomas's neck and shoulder. Then Thomas's stomach flipped when James went down on his knees and pushed Thomas's legs further apart, looking at his erection with pure lust.

James pushed Thomas's hands away and took hold of it, and Thomas let his head drop back and closed his eyes as James wrapped his wet lips around him.

“Hu-uhh,” Thomas moaned, hands once again gripping the chair arms tightly. He quickly opened his eyes and looked down, however, wanting to watch James work him. It was almost too much, to see the coppery moustache and lips moving swiftly over him, feeling the back of James's throat struggling to take all of him down. Then James looked up at him, gray-green eyes nearly black and heavily lidded.

“Ohh, fuck,” said Thomas. He went to grip James's hair but now it was too short and Thomas desperately missed his queue. He was too close to the edge, and he wanted to prolong this as much as he could. He had detailed plans for this night now, if James's current state was any indication of how it should go.

“Stop,” he stuttered out, gently pushing James back. James slid his mouth away from Thomas. The cool night hitting his wet erection made him shudder. He deftly left the chair and pushed against James's bare chest. James fell backwards onto his rump, then on his back as Thomas sank down with him, fumbling eagerly at his pants. James made quick work of stripping down, flinging off his boots and lifting his rump to tear his pants off. Thomas inhaled sharply at the sight of James's own erection as it bobbed against his stomach. He must have stared at it too long because James begged for him in a raspy voice, “Thomas, please.”

And Thomas, slicked up from James's earlier machinations, spread James's legs and yanked him up into his lap. Thomas leaned back on his the balls of his feet while James's breathing turned into panting. Thomas pushed himself inside James, very carefully. He wanted this to be nothing like their first time on the ship; he wanted to make love.

James shuddered under him as Thomas pushed in his full length on the fourth try. James bucked up off the blankets, at first resisting Thomas. Thomas was careful, sliding in slowly and feeling James grip him until their friction was turned to butter. Thomas shuddered against the contact so long missed, of the way James threw his head back and brought his hands up to touch the hand on his thigh, just as he had so long ago.

Dear God, how he’d missed this.

Thomas felt hot tears burn in his eyes as he worked up a rhythm. James bucked up again and again, high enough that he tightened forcefully around Thomas and winced. Thomas watched as he pushed himself hard against him, baring his teeth as pleasure mixed with pain. He kept doing it until Thomas stopped moving altogether. He slid out of James just enough to shift his position and lean over the other man, anger flashing over his face as he pinned James's arms above his head.

“Stop it,” he said. “Stop trying to punish yourself.”

The tears hovering in his eyes fell, dropping onto James's cheek. James turned his head away, and Thomas recognized the old demons coating his features, the internal struggle that even all of Thomas's love had never fully exorcised from the ex- lieutenant—the belief that he should not be doing what he was doing.

Now, after meeting Captain Flint, Thomas could not help but also surmise that James thought of himself as the monster he had been told he was.

“You’re breaking my heart, James,” Thomas choked out. “Let me love you.”

He was still hard. James was still hard. Thomas let go of his arms and pushed back on his knees again and gently thrusted inside him again until he found a rhythm. He was half convinced James would stop their love making altogether. However as he watched the captain, James's expression softened and his worry lines disappeared, eyelids growing heavy again.

Thomas relaxed some more, rolling his hips and pushing himself all the way inside James. James moaned. Thomas pushed faster but still with tenderness, rolling his hips ever so slightly so that he began hitting against that most tender spot inside James. In response James gripped his hand tighter. He met Thomas's thrusts evenly until both of them were close to drowning in the ecstasy they created. Heat coursed through Thomas's body in white-hot flashes as he felt the moment building in his chest. James breathed heavily under him, thin layer of sweat causing his muscles to gleam under Thomas. Then James beckoned to him, eyes filled with a desperate need.

Thomas laid himself over James until James's rock-hard erection was pressed up against his stomach. He bent down and kissed James, panting into his mouth. James kissed him back like wild fire, pulling Thomas as close as he could down over him, both legs coming up to wrap themselves lightly around Thomas's buttocks as Thomas pushed himself inside of James faster and faster. James spread himself as wide as he could, sweaty hands clutching at Thomas's back.

Thomas felt almost dizzy with anticipation, but he wanted James to come first.

He forced some space between them so that he could reach down at grab hold of James's erection. He jerked on it in time with his thrusts, building a new rhythm there. James's eyes rolled up in his head. A few strangled noises escaped his throat before his breathing became so clipped that Thomas knew he was nearly there. He slowed down his rhythm with James's erection while still thrusting hard inside him until a strangled groan came from James's throat and he bucked and arched and came into Thomas's hand.

Thomas kept pulling on him until James had no more left to give. Only then, grinning down at him through a hot haze did Thomas ride him hard and fast, pulling out as he shot out over James's chest and thought he would never stop.

When he finally did he bent over James and licked and kissed some of it off and reached up to kiss James. Despite both of them being out of breath James took it, tasting himself and Thomas in the kiss and moaning again, one hand coming up to grip Thomas by the jaw. Then finally Thomas pulled away and rolled over and off of him. He flopped on his back, unable to think or speak. As soon as his breathing began to slow however, another tidal wave of emotions came up from his gut and this time he could not hold them all in.

He jerked upright, chest heaving and ran his hands over his face and through his hair. Fuck. He fucking loved James and he was shocked that he still loved James even after all the horrid things he had done and he felt terrible that he should be so shocked. Not to mention the guilt he felt over what had happened to them…

“Thomas, what is it?”

“Nothing, I…I’m fine,” he stuttered out unconvincingly, even to himself.

James sat up next to him.

“You’re shaking,” he said with concern, hands coming to caress his arms, his cheek. Thomas tried to pull away.

“I said I was fine. I’m just…just…”

He stopped. He did not know what to say, which was a rare thing indeed for him. James said nothing but instead coaxed him back down on the blankets again. Thomas lay on his side and as soon as he did he found himself being enveloped in the warm and slick and strong body that was James behind him, an arm coming to wrap itself protectively and possessively around him. James held him long after he had finally stopped shaking, his heart beat once again normal and—for a brief moment—all the worries and cares faded away into oblivion.

\----------------------------------

“You must stop with the violence. What you did to that man the other day, I cannot abide by that. You must at least try. This isn’t about what I think about pirates or pardons anymore, this is about you.”

“I know. But it never goes away, the anger. If I do not let it out one way, it will come out another.”

They faced each other on the floor under the tent’s canopy, not having moved much since they ended their love making. James had tucked a pillow under his arm and had his head propped up on his elbow, watching Thomas warily. Thomas had one arm tucked under his head as he spoke.

“Surely any way would be healthier than the violence.”

“You think so?” asked James. He sat up and reached down towards Thomas’s feet and fumbled around with Thomas's clothes until he found the flask buried there near his waist band. He lay back down and tossed it so that it landed next to Thomas's ribs. James looked at him pointedly. Thomas frowned.

“This isn’t about me at the moment.”

“Maybe not, but the point still stands.”

James seemed ready to continue defending himself but then his face went lax and he sighed.

“Do we have to talk about this now? Everything is going so well…”

Yes, we do and no, it is not, not truly,” said Thomas. He frowned and looked away. “You and I were never together long enough to even have an argument, let alone deal with anything significant to our relationship.”

James let out a huff.

“You’re here now. I told you earlier, you make me a better person. That’s a start, anyway. I don’t know what else to say or do.”

“I know. Which is why I have decided to formulate a new plan, as grand as the one for Nassau but hopefully much more achievable.”

James raised an eyebrow, expression somewhere between fear and amusement. “Oh?”

Thomas sat up and turned towards him.

“My plan is to save you from yourself, day by day, bit by bit. It will require a variety of different resources, all stemming from my vast and intimate experience with you, of you, as well as your own cooperation.”

“Thomas…”

“And I will accept nothing less than your full cooperation, just as before. Unlike before, however, there will be no politics involved, no Parliament or Whitehall to stand in the way of our progress. The end goal is to have you made whole again. Perhaps not the same person you were before, but a new James, carved out of what remains of the old one and out of the steel and flames that this new James seems to possess.”

“Thomas, please.”

“I’m serious.”

James looked at him and opened his mouth but nothing came out. Thomas bent over and kissed him softly. It seemed to convince him. He looked down and turned the gold ring on his small finger around.

“I never stopped loving you, you know,” he said. “Neither did she.”

Thomas tensed, looking away from him as the sharp pang of his wife’s death hit him again. James was watching him.

“We both missed you terribly,” he continued. “So much so that we were never able to truly get over any of what happened. It was like….it was like living in tatters, in the remains.”

“I don’t think I want to hear this—“

“You need to hear this,” James said firmly, surprising him. “You need to at least know what it was like. I’ve not told another fucking soul any of this, ever, and if you want this new plan of yours to work…”

James trailed off, eyeing Thomas with a steady gaze. Thomas swallowed and nodded. James was right, of course. He was being selfish, afraid of the pain James's story would cause him but knowing all along that at some point it needed to be told.

“Peter Ashe wanted me to tell my story,” said James. “To proclaim my weaknesses in front of England, and I nearly agreed to, just so I could finally hear them say ‘I’m sorry, we’ve done you wrong.’”

James blinked back tears, though his expression was hard and cold. The sneer found his lip again and Thomas ached for him, shocked at the depths of his thirst for retribution. He himself had surely felt the same need after his father’s men had taken him away, yet more than anything he had mourned the time away in a black hole of despair; ten years’ worth of time.

There had been plenty to mourn.

Brushing those thoughts aside he hesitantly reached out and brushed his fingers against James's bare arm. James started, lost in his thoughts.

“Please go on,” said Thomas.

James did.

“You should also know that Miranda fought for me, fought the way you would have, to save me in her own way. She tried to send a letter…”

And so James told his story, not always in order but eventually Thomas understood most of what had happened to his lover and his wife over the last eleven years. It was an overwhelming amount to process, and some of James's tales of pirating on the high seas were almost too much to believe, including one event in particular about the death of his own father.

Thomas was less shocked by this information than James seemed to think he should be, and in the end he admitted he was glad the Earl Alfred Hamilton was dead.

“I thought it would end with your father,” said James. “That I could return Captain Flint to the depths from which he sprang, whether it was from Hell or Davy Jones’ Locker or just the minds of men. But he didn’t go away. I couldn’t…stop.”

James cut off again, swallowing hard. The toll it was taking on James to talk about himself in such a way made Thomas ache again and he couldn’t help but scoot in close to James and to brush away his tears with his thumb. The truth was it made him feel complete on some basic level again to be so close; to feel something for anyone again was a hard-won thing and Thomas did not want to lose it.

“Shh,” he said. “We’ll talk more later.”

They stood and got as far as pulling on their trousers when James seemed to be struck by some fancy.

“Come on. Let’s go into the water.”

Thomas mumbled some protests to this plan but James pushed him out of the tent and towards the beach anyway. Thomas was glad of the burst of fresh air, however, not realizing just how muggy the tent had become after their love making.

James stepped out into the small rolling waves as they flattened out over the sand and beckoned for Thomas to follow. Thomas peeled off his light undershirt with hesitation. Thomas reminded him that he was not a sailor but a land-lubber, to which James laughed heartily at him. The sweet and rare sound was music to Thomas's ears and lightened his mood significantly so that he boldly followed James until they were up in to their waists.

“No more,” Thomas cried out in mock fear. “My feet must remain on land, I’m afraid.”

“Not a problem,” said James, relaxing his leg muscles so that he seemed to float in place. Thomas did the same, grinning at him. He shut his eyes and sighed.

“This feels wonderful. It’s too bad one cannot do this in the Thames.”

“At least there wouldn’t be sharks in the Thames,” said James darkly.

Thomas's eyes shot open in alarm. “Bloody hell. I didn’t think about that.”

James laughed again and Thomas flicked water at his face. James returned fire, pushing himself off the sandy bottom and propelling himself backwards and away from Thomas. Thomas launched after him, managing to grab a hold of his arm at some point. James was smiling at him impishly, eyes wide and glittering under his brow. The sight took Thomas back eleven years.

“There you are,” Thomas whispered, pulling himself in close.

Whether or not James had caught the reference to James McGraw Thomas couldn’t tell, but James’s face became somber regardless, though he kept a small grin. He moved in and kissed Thomas. His lips were cool and salty against Thomas's own. Thomas kissed him back, tongue gently probing for entry. James gave it to him and they remained locked together like so for some time, simply enjoying one another’s light touches and teases.

It was a strange but thrilling sensation for Thomas, who had scarcely been in the water, let alone gotten romantic in it. This was certainly better than the James River had been. He loved the buoyant feeling it gave him, of how he floated and did not have to focus on standing or leaning or doing anything except what he was doing to James's face. Not to mention the relief it was from the hot and stuffy tropical air.

Eventually though they both grew impatient of one another’s teasing and James led them back on the beach. Then Thomas had an idea.

“Go get a blanket,” he said.

James considered it—considered him—for a moment before grinning again and jogging off towards the tent. He returned moments later with the requested object. Thomas took it and fluffed it out over the dry sand. Without hesitation he stripped off his pants again and sat down. James joined him and they silently continued their kissing session. This time Thomas's hands wondered a bit more, tracing the contours of James's chest and playing over his nipples. Thomas drew back and saw how hard and purplish they had become as the flesh dried. He bent down and sucked and licked them, eliciting tiny hums from James, who gently brushed Thomas's wet and matted hair away from his forehead, fingers tracing down along his shoulder blades.

Soon Thomas's hands wondered even further to James's crotch and began pulling at his half-hard cock, his kisses becoming harder. James responded by moving a hand down the small of Thomas's back and gripping onto his ass. Thomas hitched himself towards James in encouragement, feeling his cock harden completely.

They continued on in the same teasing manner for a long while, until finally James broke away, panting.

“Let me inside you,” he breathed, resting his forehead against Thomas's. Thomas felt the words go straight to his groin. His heart fluttered. He nodded and panted out a ‘yes.’

“How do you want me?” James asked.

Thomas rolled to his hands and knees, feeling he was at last ready for this. He heard a sharp intake of breath from James and turned his head to see. James stood behind him, stroking himself and looking down at him with lidded eyes. He made a show of sucking on his fingers and slowly going to his knees behind Thomas, whose own breath caught in his throat as James readied him. Thomas moaned at the small penetrations James made with his fingers, opening him up. He felt a jolt of fire run through him, face growing hot. James withdrew his fingers and grabbed both of Thomas's cheeks, spreading him. Thomas felt James nudge on his legs. Thomas spread them further, about ready to scream if James didn’t hurry.

But the pirate captain was no longer the raging ball of fury he’d been when Thomas had taken him on the ship. Now, Thomas thought he was somewhere in-between that James and the James of old who tenderly pushed himself inside of Thomas but now did not bother to hide his obvious pleasure, making small sounds and moans as he worked Thomas.

Thomas gasped as James gave a single hard thrust, almost all the way inside him, then very slowly pulled out. He repeated the motion several more times, sending heat flashes through Thomas as he plunged in, then slowly withdrew so far it was sheer agony.

“Jesus,” Thomas panted. “When did you learn that?”

“I don’t know,” said the breathy voice that sent erotic chills down Thomas's spine. He felt James place his palms on his thighs, fingers slipping around Thomas's hips as he adjusted their position and then started thrusting at the same pace Thomas had used earlier, working them into that rhythm once more.

The rhythm was harder, more intense with Thomas in this position but not painful and he relished it, relished the feel of his lover pulsing inside him, his own body wrapping around James's warm shaft. He heard a moan of pure bliss escape James's mouth and it caused his own shaft to become rock-hard, butterflies in his stomach.

Thomas hunkered his arms and shoulders further down on the blanket and stuck his ass up higher for James. Another strangled moan came from the captain. James placed a flat palm over the small of his back, using it to push Thomas into him. He pushed himself all the way inside Thomas, keeping control of the pace. Thomas let out a breath and closed his eyes, releasing himself of everything else except for James's touch and the sound of their labored breathing. Then James shifted so that he could drape himself over Thomas's back, cheek almost next to his.

“Am I hurting you?”

The familiar ache came to Thomas's chest. He smiled and reached a hand up to the wiry prickle of James's beard.

“No, love. Keep going.”

James let out a sigh into his ear, heavy with passion, and kept up their rhythm until Thomas grabbed at himself, anticipation growing. James seemed to take that as a sign. Without a word he withdrew from Thomas and pushed him over until he turned was flat on his back. At first Thomas's body rallied against the sharp change and sudden loss, but as soon as James moved to enter him again Thomas realized how badly he’d wanted to see James in all his glory dominate him.

“James,” he begged, breath a ragged and raw thing.

James took one hand and positioned his cock between Thomas’s legs again, pushing in. This time the coupling was easy and Thomas let out a long, prolonged moan as James slid inside. James raised his hand and supported himself with it, the other coming up to grab Thomas's leg and tenderly—so tenderly and carefully Thomas could have either laughed or cried—pushed it up.

Thomas clung to him, clung to the sides of James's ribs, fingers raking against them as James built up the pace into something less graceful and more feral, his breaths coming shorter and shorter. He leaned down and engulfed Thomas's mouth in a desperate kiss, teeth and tongue clacking and mashing together as Thomas bucked up against him, begging for release.

James pushed himself in as deep as he could go, pounding up against Thomas’s ass until Thomas felt James shudder, a high-pitched moan escaping his lips as he shot his seed into Thomas. Thomas bucked up into it, opening his heavy eyes just enough to see the look of pure ecstasy roll over James's face. He grabbed his own shaft and pulled, once, twice and with his thumb over his tip he made himself come into the space between their two bellies.


	10. Chapter 10

***

“I think it’s getting light outside.”

James opened his eyes and blinked, wiping the sand out of his face. He lifted his head off the blanket and noticed the lightening sky for the first time. They had dozed off there on the beach, finally exhausted after the long night.

For his part, James was appalled at himself for falling asleep. He could not have been in a more vulnerable position, with his ship anchored barely a mile off in the distance, full of his crew while here he was on an island with his lover, fucking all night...

His lover. He started at the word he’d chosen to think about. Part of him realized that it was true, that Thomas had become yet again his lover and another part of him knew that the word was wholly inadequate. It always had been.

Still, he could not find it in himself to be truly upset—and now their alone time was at an end. He thumped his head back miserably and huffed out a sigh.

“Damn. We should pack up and get back before the first watch.”

 

“How much longer do think it will be before we make landfall again?” Thomas asked him as they rowed back to the ship.

“At this point I couldn’t say. We’ve got to take another ship. We need supplies for the man o’war as much as we need ammunitions.”

“You haven’t named it yet, have you?” Thomas asked, nodding at the large black outline of the Spanish warship as they drew near it. The question caught James off guard and he wondered why Thomas took an interest. 

“No. But then again, I’ve been busy. Did you have something in mind?”

James could not quite make out Thomas's face in the darkness but he suspected he appeared thoughtful, if not downright scheming about it.

“What about the Marcus Aurelius?” he asked softly.

***

The next day they found their prize.

The call came out from the lookout just before midday and James had ordered them to pursue the smaller frigate flying Dutch colors. He’d let Thomas stay close by as he shouted out orders to the master crew; he could tell Thomas was curious to see how such an event played out, and he seemed just as curious to James's role as absolute commander, which James told him only truly occurred when they were taking a prize or in battle.

Once they were within firing range of the smaller vessel James tried to get him to go either below deck or back inside his quarters but Thomas was having none of it, insisting that he wanted to watch the entire event unfold. Silver was quick to add that perhaps, just maybe, the captain was letting Thomas spend too much time in his quarters. Silver had delicately made the suggestion but James had still glared at him. He knew Silver was right—as he so often was nowadays—but James still harbored a fear for Thomas's personal safety.

“I’m not glass, James, I won’t shatter,” Thomas had told him bluntly when he’d felt the need to remind Thomas he was neither a sailor nor a pirate.

And so Thomas remained above deck. James planted him by the aft side gunwale and told him to stay there.

When they were close enough James ordered the men to raise the black. He’d looked across the way to Thomas after he gave the order, curious to see what Thomas's reaction would be. Thomas had turned his head as the flag was hoisted up the pole, eyes travelling across the frightening image of the skeleton holding a sword in one hand and an hourglass in the other. James thought he looked half in awe and half in disgust.

The Dutchman tried to outrun them after that, but a few chain shots sent careening into her stern caused her to slow down and raise a white flag in surrender. James felt the usual sense of triumph as cheers went out through the crew, both for the surrender and for their captain, who was once again going to give them a successful haul.

The Dutchman, as it turned out, was plentiful with fresh livestock and water, both of which were needed. More lucrative cargo included eight eight-pounders with grapeshot and a decent amount of cutlasses, daggers, and pistols taken off of the ship’s crew.

James confronted the ship’s captain and told him his demands, surrounded by a group of pirates with their swords and axes at the ready.

The captain was younger than James; barely thirty with a clean-shaven face and a green look about him. Still he met James's gaze squarely, then with some fear when James told him he wanted the ship.

“And what of my men?” the captain asked, looking around at the scattered members of his crew who either stood or sat squirming under the glare of the pirates.

“They can either join us or try their luck in the long boats in the middle of the ocean,” was James's reply.

The captain fixed him with a glare, clearly not liking either option. James stepped up closer to him. The look he gave the younger man seemed to immediately set him to agreement because his eyes widened ever so slightly and he took a step away from James.

“As you command. But I’ll have you know, sir,” said the captain before James could turn away, “That if my men and I make it back to the colonies or England, I will report you, Mr…”

“Flint,” said James, stepping back up to him with a dark smile on his lips. “James Flint. I’m sure the proper authorities will know my name.”

“Flint,” repeated the Dutch captain in a small voice. “You are the one they say devastated Charlestown.”

It was halfway between a statement and a question. James simply kept his dark smile, lips twitching. He watched the other man swallow hard and blink.

“As you command,” he repeated again. He turned towards his own men and ordered them to the launches. Most of them did as ordered, but it was almost inevitable that at least a few sailors would join a pirate crew if given the chance, and this time exactly six of them did, grumbling about poor wages and even poorer treatment under a tyrannical captain. James nodded to Silver, who happily took them on as new recruits.

The Dutch crew cursed and spat at James and his men but could do little more. James watched as they went overboard into the ship’s three boats, crammed in like sardines. The captain ordered them to begin rowing in a general northerly direction and though his voice was strong and loud his face revealed the fear nestled there.

“You’re not going to give them any food or water?”

James started at Thomas's voice. He had crossed over from the warship at some point and now stood at the railing beside James. James watched as the boats slowly rowed away from the jeers of the pirates who leered over the railing at them.

“No,” said James. “What for?”

“They’ll probably die of thirst and starve,” said Thomas, his voice rising in irritation.

“A sad state of affairs of being in the wrong place at the wrong time for them,” replied James without thinking. He turned away from the railing and started back towards his own ship.

“Captain,” said Thomas. His voice was loud, opening up their exchange to anyone within earshot. James spun on his heels.

“What?”

Thomas walked to him and lowered his voice again, sapphire eyes telling James in no uncertain terms he was aggravated.

“You cannot simply leave their lives to fate. Not anymore.”

And then James remembered their discussion on the island. He set his jaw and sighed. Though he felt no sympathy for the Dutch crew he knew Thomas was right. He needed to learn to show mercy again.

He motioned for some of his crew closest to him to drop the cargo they were transporting and ordered them instead to cut up one of the Dutchman’s boarding planks and to use pieces of it to secure bags of food and some water, then to toss them out towards the longboats.

He himself went to the railing and signaled--with a shout and a wave—to the captain’s boat for them to wait.

A thought came to him, unbidden, that this was exactly what he would have done as lieutenant if he had found such poor souls starving and set adrift. He would have cared.

He felt the familiar knot rising back up into his throat again and he swallowed it before it could reach that far, hardening himself as Thomas followed him onto a boarding plank that stretched out between the two vessels. He lingered on the plank, answering the questions some of the crew had as to where to put cargo and how many men were to stay on board the frig as its crew. Lastly James decided who would be in charge of the smaller vessel when they sailed back to Nassau, picking out the men who were most level-headed and self-reliant.

He did his best to ignore the cool gaze Thomas had fixed him with as well as the confused mumbles from the crew who had thrown the food overboard. He had to command now. And didn’t have time to apologize or feel guilty, either about the Dutch crew or the wasted food. They needed this ship badly…didn’t Thomas realize that? He knew they needed it if they were to regain control of New Providence again; James had made that much clear to him. He told himself Thomas was just being Thomas and that he was still too tender a man for piracy. He told himself he would very logically explain it all again. He told himself he’d actually been merciful by not killing the Dutch crew. He told himself Thomas's plan would have to wait.

He told himself he was a liar.

Once all business was said and done and the crew had been split between the two ships James turned his thoughts to New Providence and Vane. It was difficult to stay focused, however. Thomas’s gaze seemed to soften but still he said little to James after they had returned to the man o’war and he had remained on the quarterdeck.

James was constantly wondering where the two of them stood with one another. The time spent on the island almost seemed like a dream to him as he now felt the familiar creak and sway of his ship beneath his well-worn boots and looked around at the faces of his men. This life was so familiar to him now, the only life he knew how to live. The island was like some brief flight of fancy which had taken them away from the realities they both faced. Now, back on board his ship James felt all the burdens and cares come crashing down around him yet again. This time was different, however. He had grown so used to his burdens, so complacent with their constant strain that he accepted them unquestioningly. No longer.

Now, thoughts of Thomas interrupted his mental routine, pulling him away from his cares and making his stomach knot and chest tighten. He wanted to be rid of his burdens, wanted desperately to throw them into the sea and forget them.

James shook his head, abandoning that line of thinking. It was dangerous, too dangerous. He needed to focus. He glanced up at the quarterdeck and met the pair of sapphire eyes that watched him. There could never be any focus with Thomas looking at him like that; a mixture of the utmost care and criticism that weighed heavily on James. James sighed and went to his quarters to plot their course, hoping that whatever came next between them would wait a few precious hours while he attempted to get his head on straight again. If they were too delayed in returning to the meeting point with Vane, there was no telling what the other pirate captain might do, but James was certain it would be rash.

Thomas did not come to the cabin until late that night, after James had settled in his hammock. He’d muttered a greeting and had gone straight over the window seat to undress and settle in. In the silence that followed James listened for the distinct sound of a light slush, followed by a lid being unscrewed and then Thomas taking a drink. It all came to him and a wave of disappointment washed over him. Thomas had more than likely been drinking all evening.

***

The next few days they sailed in earnest, making a u-turn and heading further south towards Nassau. The course they were on took them close to Harbor Island before they were to turn westward for New Providence. As the island came within viewing distance in James's spyglass one morning, he took the opportunity to ease the tension between he and Thomas again by telling him about Richard Guthrie and how his daughter Eleanor had become the trade boss of Nassau and then of Guthrie’s death.

“I know the Guthrie name,” said Thomas. “He and my father were business acquaintances when I was a young man. Father often spoke highly of his family, until Richard wound up in the West Indies. My father cut all ties with him after that.”

“Your father and the rest of the English government,” said James. “That did not stop him from becoming a shrewd operator in Nassau. I’ve had to visit him a few times over the years. His estate on Harbor Island easily rivals any of those back in London. You would have liked it. All the luxury and décor of London without the gray skies.”

“What, I wonder, becomes of his house then, without any family or authorities to see to it?” mused Thomas.

James shrugged. “It’s probably been looted by now, no doubt. His staff and servants grabbed what they could and abandoned it. More than likely it’s just setting there, unused.”

Their talk was cut short by a cry of sail! from the lookout, followed by directions that led James's spyglass to Harbor Island’s large, horseshoe-shaped bay. He sneered and bit his lip.

“Damn. The Royal Navy.”

Thomas strained over the railing, squinting.

James squinted through the glass. “I only see the one.” He turned and cupped his hand up towards the crow’s nest towering above them.

“How many?” he shouted. By now the crew’s attention was focused on the yelling that had broken up their morning routines.

There was a pause as the lookout carefully scanned the island. He shouted back down at James, “One sail! Royal Navy!”

James felt the energy on his ship jump. He looked around him. Shouts went up that with two ships under their command they should attack. James looked around for his quartermaster and found him, hobbling steadily towards them from the helm. James looked back at Thomas.

“You should probably go below deck—“

This time Thomas nodded in agreement. “I think I’ll go the galley.”

He crossed James to do just that but James gently grabbed his elbow. He knew Thomas had been going to the galley often, more often than just for mealtime, because that was where the rum was stored. He kept his voice low.

“You’ve already had your share of rum for the week.”

Thomas roughly jerked out of his grip. “I’m aware of that. Perhaps I actually want to eat.”

James looked up at him and for once it was Thomas who looked away under James's scrutiny and not the other way around.

“Let me be,” said Thomas softly.

James could not help but give him a pleading look, brows drawing up in concern. Thomas winced before he walked away towards the hatchway that led down below.

 

Putting Thomas out of his mind was hard but James focused on his options at hand. Luckily the decision to attack was made relatively easy. After James ordered they slowly draw closer to Harbor Island he ordered two additional lookouts posted on the ratlines, one near the bow and one at the stern, to make sure there were no other ships.

“She’s not travelling with an escort or a fleet,” mused Silver. “She really is all alone, probably not expecting any pirates in the area.”

“England must not yet know of Richard Guthrie’s death. Though he wasn’t exactly friends with the navy they still used the bay as a stop-off.”

“We could take her easily without worrying about damage,” added Silver hopefully. “Load up with more supplies in case things in Nassau go to hell.”

“No,” said James. “We’ll go after her but not to board her. This is the navy. This won’t end without bloodshed and right now we cannot afford to lose any men. We’ll force them to leave, send gunboats out to follow her so she doesn’t double back...”

“They’ll just come back with more ships if you let her go!” protested Silver, not understanding his captain’s logic.

“That’s already happening,” said James evenly. He looked at Silver. “Do you really think after Charlestown the New World will remain the same? No, they’ll be hunting us in full force soon enough.”

Silver opened his mouth but only sucked in a breath. He gave James a look before turning his gaze back to the shores of Harbor Island.

“What is it?” James asked gruffly. He knew better than to let Silver’s thoughts run rampant with no attempt at reigning in his concerns.

“Something’s got you all twisted around,” said Silver after a moment. “Something or someone. But don’t worry, I’m beginning to understand what that feels like,” he added when James turned to stare at him. The only thing that kept James from grabbing Silver by the throat was the honest, almost timid way he had spoken the last sentence, as though it might not be a lie.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New chapter. Some snuggles, and a trip to Harbour Island. I'm truly blown away by how much everyone is liking this. You are all wonderful. Comments still much appreciated!

***

Surprising and then trapping what turned out to be the H.M.S. Sea Spirit was relatively easy; James used both ships to keep her inside the bay where her only defense was to go on the offense. Her cannon response was too slow, however, and once James ordered his ship’s massive number of gun ports opened the Sea Spirit quickly halted her attack and surrendered, choosing life over suicide.

The men were disappointed at the news they wouldn’t be taking her as a prize but settled for leering and spouting curses at her crew. James let them wave their cutlasses and pistols about until all but the officers of the Sea Spirit were cowering away from the starboard railing, afraid to get too close to the much larger pirate ship.

James and the Spirit’s captain regarded one another from their ships’ railings. The Spanish warship dwarfed the smaller frigate and James and his crew looked down at the navy crew. James shouted out his demands, to which the captain complied with surprisingly well. Then, just as James turned to leave the captain shouted to back to him.

“Captain Flint,” he yelled. James turned back around.

“I was told that if I should run into you, I should send Captain Hume’s regards. You see, I was to aid Captain Hornigold in Nassau, but even if I did not make it, Hume is quite assured in his eventual conquest of your little island.”

James had sneered at him and had turned around to look at his crew, half ready to give the order to attack and burn the captain and ship to fucking cinders but their exchange had gone largely unnoticed; the sounds of his own crew shouting out curses echoed around them, combined with the navy crew’s officers yelling out orders to weigh anchor effectively gave their conversation some privacy. That was the only reason James hesitated. He looked back evenly at the Spirit’s captain.

“You can tell Hume and Hornigold and whoever else England might wish to send that I’ll send them my warmest regards once they’re all at the bottom of the fucking ocean. Now leave.”

His words had the desired effect, wiping the small and smug grin off the other man’s face. The Sea Spirit wasted little time in weighing anchor and slipping out the narrow passage allotted to her by the Dutchman ship. James then ordered gunboats covered in pitch follow in her wake. The ever-present threat of fire kept the navy ship in line until she was nearly out of sight.

By now, however, another problem had slowly crept up on them. The temperature had dropped and the air had become heavy. Along with sunset came a rolling blanket of fog that now surrounded Harbor Island to the point where navigation would have been ridiculous.

“Tell the men we’re staying here for the night,” James told Silver and Billy Bones. “We can go ashore for fresh water in the morning.”

“Captain,” said Billy. “Guthrie wasn’t the only man living on this island. What if there are others who won’t take kindly to pirates?”

“We won’t be wondering too far inland,” said James. “As I said to Silver, there’s no navy around anymore, at least for the time being. We’ll be fine.”

That seemed to relieve the bosun somewhat, but James knew Billy was anxious to get back home. The impending threat of England was beginning to make itself known in the daily atmosphere on the ship; James had sailed with his crew long enough to know when the figurative winds were changing for the worse. He would have to take care when giving orders and speaking to them, especially with Thomas on board.

That thought snapped him out of his musings. He remembered the attack on Thomas not so long ago and he curled his hands into fists at the thought.

When he retired to his cabin that night Thomas was still awake, reading a book by candle light at James’s desk. When James entered Thomas finished his sentence and gently laid down the book.

“I trust all went well out there?”

“Not quite. The Sea Spirit’s captain informed me that Captain Hume of the Scarborough isn’t the least bit concerned about me and that the Spirit was supposed to form a fleet with Hume and Hornigold. That’s been avoided, but no doubt the Sea Spirit will drop anchor in the closest and safest port and send word to England to send a whole fucking fleet. I should have sunk her.”

He yanked off his coat and threw it roughly down to the ground, frustrated.

Thomas pushed himself away from the desk and rose.

“I’m certain you’ve already done plenty to piss off King George. There’s no need to add to it.”

James glanced over at him, hands on his hips.

“Succinct as always,” he replied gruffly. He sighed. He didn’t know whether Thomas's advice soothed or further irritated him; he was tired, he realized. Tired of the day, tired of thinking and scheming.

Thomas had sat down at his window seat, leaving the single candle burning on the desk as he took off his shoes and shirt and arranged the blankets and pillow that had become a nest of sorts for him. James stood there and watched him fiddle about, wondering what he was thinking. Was he angry with him? Disappointed? Those two feelings seemed the only ones that made sense, even as flashes of their time on the island flooded his mind and James inhaled sharply. Thomas did not hear him.

He picked up the candle and said a quiet good night, which Thomas returned, not meeting his gaze. James's heart sunk as he crossed over to his hammock and settled in, once again facing towards Thomas. He spent the first hour trying to find sleep and failing, then the next hour torturing himself as to whether or not he should call out to Thomas. Eventually his attention had turned to the window beyond. The fog was now pressed close upon the ship and even in the darkness James could tell the air outside was not quite right; instead of the open black night the view was muddled and carried a gray tint. If he stared at it long enough it almost gave off an eerie glow, so thick was the fog.

When he looked at Thomas's face again he though he saw him blink.

“Thomas?”

“Yes?”

James sighed and climbed to his bare feet. He felt silly, like a child, but for some reason he could not bear this night, couldn’t find his usual cold comfort that kept the loneliness at bay. There was only the loneliness and it was made worse after he and Thomas had been so intimate only a week ago. He padded over to the edge of his desk facing the window seat and leaned against it.

“Take my hammock,” he said, trying to sound casual. “This fog is monstrous. I’ll take the seat.”

Thomas was grinning at him. “You think I’m afraid of it?”

But then the smile faded rapidly as Thomas turned and looked out the window. He raised a hand, fingers touching the cool glass.

“But it is frightful, isn’t it? As though it will swallow the ship, or one of those dreadful sea creatures will come out of the depths and take the ship down.”

The look on Thomas's face told James he was not only speaking about the horrors of the fog, and the dark thoughts that had swirled around them both threatened to surface again. James mentally shook them away.

“You mean a kracken?” he asked once he trusted himself to speak again. “Those tales are overblown. Even the largest of them are only the size of a launch boat.”

Thomas let his fingers slide down the glass, now moist with condensation.

“Then I should be safe here, shouldn’t I?”

His words were soft but they stung James all the same. He nodded and swallowed.

“Very well then.”

He turned to go but Thomas reached out and grabbed his hand. Even now the contact still sent a subtle jolt through James's system, a not unpleasant connection he struggled to get used to.

The fingers gripped his tighter.

“Wait. I did not mean it that way. What is it?”

James turned around, pulling out of Thomas's grip only to grab him with his other hand and pull him up. Thomas yielded and stood, letting the covers fall around him. James raised his fingers and touched the side of his face, thumb tracing the age lines around his mouth and to his chin. The sapphire eyes shined brightly at him though Thomas’s expression remained stoic. Thomas reached up and curled his fingers around James's neck and brought their foreheads together. James shut his eyes, body relaxing. He knew this moment and knew it well. For once, the tangled knot in his stomach chose not to make an appearance and instead he let himself be contented in the moment, feeling Thomas so close again, the brush of his thumb beside his ear.

But as always the moment began to ebb and to dissolve as his mind came back into focus. He wanted this, only this, he thought, but there were so many other things he had spent so long chasing after and they were so close, so close…

Richard Guthrie’s words came to him from the day they had brokered an agreement about Abigail Ashe: I would argue it is also indisputable that these two plans, courting Lord Ashe and retrieving the Urca gold, are working against each other. Perhaps even mutually exclude each other.

And now it was either retrieve the gold and secure the future or retrieve Thomas and the past that was stolen from them.

Could one ever retrieve something like Time?

James stiffened and set his jaw against the familiar pressure on his chest. He raised his head and focused on where Thomas's white shirt had slipped over his shoulder.

“Why is love such a hellish alchemy?” he whispered. He felt Thomas grip the back of his neck tighter.

“I do not know,” he whispered back, as though the question did not surprise him at all. That thought caused James to chuckle softly. Then he stepped over to the short side of his desk and motioned for Thomas to grab a hold of the side he stood at.

“Help me move this off that carpet.”

James was already lifting up the desk so Thomas quickly moved to help.

“What on earth for?” he asked as they painstakingly shuffled the heavy piece of oak off the thick Spanish carpet that was underneath. Once it was off James pulled the carpet further towards the middle of the room, giving it a good shake before placing it and then having Thomas help him shuffle the desk back into place.

James then took the cover and pillow from his hammock and lay them down on the carpet. He lay down and looked up at Thomas.

“There’s plenty of room,” he said with a hopeful face.

Thomas raised an eyebrow.

“That depends on your intentions,” he mused.

“Only sleep,” said James. “I promise. I cannot stand being so far from you.”

He had hesitated to say it out loud but his words had the desired effect. Thomas quickly unmade his nest from the seat and joined James on the carpet. Once they were settled side by side James peeled off his shirt and used it as more fluff for his pillow. He nodded to Thomas's light linen shirt as well.

“I want to touch you,” he said.

Again, his candor seemed to work. Thomas removed his shirt, also stuffing it behind his head and wasting no time in snuggling up to James. James shifted until his face was against Thomas's chest. Thomas pushed his leg between James's and lightly wrapped an arm around his waist. They stayed poised together for long minutes until James finally felt sleep coming. He turned on his other side but took as much of Thomas with him as he could and Thomas curled up behind him. James felt the slight pressure of dry lips on his neck and Thomas's arm snake all the way across his waist again.

This time James fell fast asleep.

\---------------------------------------

Early the next morning the crew woke to the same fog bank, surrounding the ship and water like a thick and wet soup and dousing any possibility of an early start back to New Providence. Instead they spent much of the morning on the island, locating the single river with its smaller tributaries—little more than creeks—and storing and then hauling its water back to the ship. This was an arduous process because the man o’war was anchored far south and parallel to where the river flowed. It took a group of twelve or so men lugging full barrels all the way back to the beach, then rowing back out to the ship. James ordered another group of men to scour the wooded areas for fresh fruits and any animals for meat. The remainder of the crew was ordered to stay on the ship and repair several problems that had been neglected, including a buildup of barnacles that had clustered together just at the water’s edge on the stern.

James oversaw the men’s work from the beach until midday. To everyone’s surprise the fog remained, offering very little sun but at least keeping the air cooler. Silver ordered everyone to stop to rest at midday regardless, which the crew was grateful for. James took the time to erect his usual makeshift tent on the beach. The crew settled down in the shades of the palm trees on the beach. Having worked up a sweat they stripped off all but their trousers and poured canteens of water over their heads.

James found he had little appetite and he pushed his plate away after eating only some biscuits and a bit of chicken. Thomas poked his head under the tent. Despite the cooler air he was sweating and looked miserable, still dressed in a tight-fitting vest over his shirt and wearing his waistcoat. His cheeks were flushed and that told James he’d been drinking.

“You are going to roast in that,” said James. He gestured at Thomas’s attire as Thomas sat down across from him and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his brow with. He passed Thomas his canteen. Thomas gladly accepted it and took a long drink.

“I may not give a damn about high society anymore but I am still a gentlemen,” quipped Thomas. James gave him a lop-sided smile.

“Are you?”

He made a show of looking Thomas up and down, dubious expression challenging his statement. Thomas looked at himself and noticed the rough edges of his vest, his much-too-opened shirt at his neck and the pirate boots on his feet.

“Well,” he said, turning to look out at the half-naked and bearded men napping and snoring on the beach. “It all depends on the comparison, doesn’t it?”

They both chuckled.

“Can you show me the Guthrie estate?” Thomas asked suddenly. “I’m curious as to what a nobleman’s property might look like all the way out here.”

James hesitated.

“I told them no one was to go that far inland. We don’t need to draw any attention to ourselves.”

Thomas scoffed. “This, coming from the man who has brazenly attacked the New World twice, as well as no less than three ships in almost as many weeks and has struck terror in the hearts of their crew?”

James frowned at him. “There is a time for that, and there’s a time to lay low.”

“I know,” Thomas relented. “But you are the captain, and surely they must know you had dealings with Mr. Guthrie anyway, so it wouldn’t be out of place that you would want to see if anything of value was left behind at his estate, would it?”

Thomas raised his eyebrow in the most impish way possible and James could only smile at the suave logic of his words.

“I suppose that would make sense,” he said slowly. “I’ll let Billy know. He’ll keep the others on the beach until we return.”


	12. Chapter 12

***

James judged the trek to the middle of Harbor Island to be slightly under a mile. With the aid of the thick shade provided by broad-leaved trees they made it there not quite as hot and miserable as they had been when they started.

The trees gave way to cleared land and a well-manicured green lawn, complete with landscaping that rivaled anything Thomas had seen back home. The house itself was white-washed and built in typical colonial fashion, with five windows along the second story and two small balconies. The front door was a deep red and flanked by more windows. He saw a veranda on the side of the house as well.

As he and James stepped onto the red brick path that led up to the door Thomas saw that the land surrounding the house was mostly open as well and there was a partial view of the ocean beyond. Thomas felt his spirits become a little lighter as they entered the house.

Perhaps the idea that he’d had churning around the last couple of weeks would not be too difficult a thing to convince James of after all. Yet even as that hopeful though entered his mind it dimmed. One thing that did not seem to have changed about James was his high threshold for stubbornness. Ah, if only…

The interior was much worse looking than the exterior, but Thomas had expected as much. Not because the décor or architecture was any less grand or beautiful, which it was not, but because the place had been ransacked.

The floor was littered with all manner of things, from broken lamps and vases to letters and spilled ink bottles. Cushions and pillows had been stolen from the chairs and sofas in the living room, and even the bedding had not been spared in the guest rooms, leaving only the bed frames. Broken mirror glass covered one bedroom’s floor, and the half that had not shattered still hung crookedly from the wall as though its thief had been too careless or in a hurry.

James lingered in the living room while Thomas made his way from room to room on the first floor and took a brief tour of the second before returning to the living room.

“Well?” asked James. “Satisfied?”

Thomas ran a hand along the stucco wall. “What will happen to it?”

“Unless someone else with any power happens to find it, it will be open to whoever else happens to stop by; thieves, whores, pirates.”

Thomas turned and looked at him. James appeared impatient and disinterested.

“A pity,” Thomas said, making a point to look over the room again. “It could make an excellent home away from home.”

Now came the inevitable narrowing of his eyes at Thomas's words.

“What do you mean?”

Thomas shrugged, keeping his voice casual. “Only that it seems a huge waste, this estate. Just because its previous owner is gone, it doesn’t follow that no one else should live here.”

Now James was watching him carefully, brows furrowed. Then he let out a laugh.

“You’re jesting,” he said. He looked at Thomas with a warm mirth that made Thomas's heart soar and sink at the same time. Taking a deep breath Thomas walked over to what was left of the apricot-colored sofa and sat down.

“Consider it just for one second,” he said. “We could both live here. Make the necessary repairs and truly live here, James. I saw a well, and no doubt we could easily find men and woman willing to become servants…”

“Stop, stop, stop.”

James held up a hand, all the mirth drained from his face and replaced by that stoic look Thomas suddenly realized he’d come to hate because it meant that James's stubbornness was at the forefront of his thought process. James let out a huff and took off the Spanish coat, tossing it over the coffee table. Sweat covered the open v-shape of his broad chest which even now Thomas was distracted by. He stood in front of Thomas, hands on his hips.

“Thomas,” he began as if speaking to a child. “We cannot simply live here, I cannot simply quit my ship and crew and live here. What the hell are you even talking about?”

“Yes we can,” Thomas replied evenly. “Yes you can, James, you only think you cannot.”

James let out another laugh, though this time there was no mirth in it.

“I’m in the middle of a fight over Nassau, over the future of every man woman and child who lives there, as well as the lives of my men, and you want me to just stop—“

“Oh please,” Thomas cut in, rolling his eyes. He had tried to stay calm, had told himself he would not let this conversation turn into a heated argument but he’d known better.

“Don’t tell me how noble your cause is and that you’re martyring yourself for the sake of the people of Nassau,” he shot back at James.

“I’m not martyring myself,” said James through clenched teeth. “I’m trying to re-forge a failed colony in a shithole of the Atlantic Ocean because I live here, because it’s my home! And now it’s yours too.”

Thomas glared up at him, tight-lipped. He suppressed so many words that flew to his throat. He felt a wave of uncomfortable heat roll over him. He stood and unlaced his vest, ripping at the lace to his shirt as well.   
“The fact that Nassau is a failed colony and your home does not mean you are solely responsible to re-forge it,” he retorted. “Not anymore.”

“Thomas, what do you think is going to happen? Assuming Vane and I are able to overthrow Captain Hume and re-take control of Nassau’s port, there’s still the issue of who governs over Nassau, not to mention we’ll need all the protection we can muster against the navy…”

Thomas wrung his hands. “You are missing the point. You always plan five steps ahead, it’s true. But you do not have to be the one to keep planning and scheming and fighting. You can stop. Let others take up arms against the navy.”

James shook his head. “No. There is no one. Who? Charles Vane? He may be the second most powerful captain next to me but without my strategic skills, as you said, he will let his temper get the better of him. No Thomas, it must be me. I swore I would do this, I swore I would do it for you…”

Thomas grabbed his wrists and stilled his arms. “And know I’m imploring you to stop. I am telling you, you do not need to do this. It will destroy you, don’t you see?”

James met his gaze for a moment before turning away, raw pain on his face.

“I’m already nearly gone as it is.”

“That’s not true. We talked about this. You agreed to my plan for you, that I would help you find yourself again.”

“No,” said James quickly. “I did not actually agree to your plan.”

Thomas licked his lips and sighed, feeling defeat overwhelm him.

“I may consider it, however, with one stipulation,” said James.

Thomas collapsed onto the sofa again, feeling a headache coming on. He closed his eyes and rubbed at his temple.

“And what might that be?” he asked.

James came to him and dug into his waistband before Thomas could stop him and ripped out his flask. Thomas lunged for it but James quickly backed away. Thomas stood.

“What are you doing?”

James stared him down. “You quit drinking like a fish, and I’ll think about quitting piracy. This shit is ruining you—”

“You’ll think about it?” retorted Thomas, growing loud as he grew angry. “What type of agreement is that? You’re not even trying, James.”

Thomas made to take the flask back but James stopped him with his palm against his chest. The raw pain was still on his face and Thomas looked away from it.

“I don’t know how, damnit,” James said. “I don’t know how to do this, to secure the Urca gold with so many around me who want to take it. I don’t know how to secure Nassau and stay out of the navy’s grasp, and I don’t know how to love you and be with you on top of all of it.”

His hand was still pressed against Thomas's chest, though James's own chest was heaving up and down now. Thomas looked up at him.

“Dearest James,” he breathed out. He covered the hand over his chest with his own. “No one man can do all you are attempting, no matter how ambitious and clever and charismatic you might be.”

James pulled away from him. Thomas let his hand slowly slide from his grasp.

“But I must try,” James said in a low voice. “I must. Even with you here now, it’s all I know anymore, and that is the reality of it. You are still so idealistic, Thomas. I’m afraid I once again have to remind you of how things are.”

Thomas's breath caught in his throat. The truth in James's words stung him. The main difference between them had always been just that—he was the optimistic, idealistic one and James had always been the pessimistic realist. There had been a strange bond in that. It was why they had worked so well together in London; how they had balanced each other’s ideas to formulate a solid, workable plan for Nassau, how they had flirted with one another as friends and finally as lovers.

And it stung because James was right: He was a man who had forgotten how to live a normal life, and now Thomas felt foolish for thinking it all could have been so easily attainable.

Christ, he himself had forgotten what a normal life was. Flashes of the asylum flew through his mind, of dark tortured screams and manacles around his ankles and wrists.

He sighed miserably and wished he could rip the flask out of James's hand and down its contents in one long swallow. He smiled to himself.

“I’m always such the fool, aren’t I?” he asked softly. “Always trying to find the happy ending, no matter how impractical the path to it actually is. If you tell me that this dream is impossible, I suppose I’ll believe you. What then, would be the practical ending to this story, do you think? Am I to become a pirate and sail with you? We could fight and kill and pillage together; how charming.”

He paused. James was staring at him now, the misery on his face no doubt mirroring Thomas's own.

“Or perhaps you could drop me off in the Americas again. I could try and find another job and spend the rest of my days serving strangers and lying about my past. Or maybe I’ll just tell them everything and let them judge me just out of sheer curiosity to see what they would say.”

“Thomas…”

“And perhaps,” said Thomas, sitting down on the sofa again and feeling something black and ugly growing in his chest. “Perhaps my judge and jury will again throw me in the insane asylum, only this time I’ll do what I should have done the first time around and throw a noose around my neck—“

“Stop it! For Christ’s sake, stop!”

James dropped the flask and covered the distance between them in a few long strides. He grabbed two fistfuls of Thomas's lapels and shook him, the agony and anger plain on his face.

“Why would you say such things?” he asked breathlessly, but the black and ugly thing in Thomas's chest had not abated and he grabbed the fists over his shirt and fought them off.

“Because, god damn you, I don’t know what else to say!”

They struggled until Thomas stood and shoved at James with enough force so that he let go instead of ripping Thomas's shirt. Thomas's eyes fell on the discarded flask. He strode past James and swiped it up, tearing off its lid. James's arm came across him and gripped the small container. Furious, Thomas held on to it with all his might. They grappled over it until James had pushed him up against a wall. Red in the face, Thomas refused to release his hold until James finally released his. James backed up a step, jaw clenched and glowering. He said nothing but seemed to be waiting.

The black and ugly thing in Thomas's chest cried out in victory and he took a long swallow from the flask. When he lowered it, he felt ill but he looked up at James with all the anger of the black and ugly thing written on his face. The anger in James's own face melted away.

“Why are you doing this?” James asked.

“If you insist on self destruction as a means to your end,” Thomas replied, “then I must do the same, because I cannot live without you, not after that damned place. I cannot face any more years grieving for you, so better to live with you in misery than not at all.”

The thing in his chest seemed to roar, and Thomas grabbed his gut in pain. In the same instant James pulled him away from wall and enveloped him in his arms, fingers racking through his hair and his breath hot upon Thomas's cheek. It was a rough and brutal gesture, meant to protect or shield.

“No, please don’t,” said James. “I can’t bear to see you suffer.”

Thomas pushed back against him and looked up at him. “Why can’t I have the same concern for you? Why can’t I have the power to make you listen to me, damn you!”

He remembered James's words to him in the cabin the night before. He bitterly mumbled them now.

“A hellish alchemy indeed.”

“I’m sorry,” James said at last, voice ragged. “I’m sorry, Thomas.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just be James.”

James looked at him, eyes brimming wet. The thing in Thomas’s chest stilled, its power weakened by James's face. Thomas let out a ragged breath.

“What do you want?” he asked. “To win this gold? Or to be with me?”

James slowly looked up from the pieces of broken vase on the floor.

“Fuck the gold,” he said. “And you’ll never have to ask me something like that again.”

Thomas let out a heavy sigh, chest falling and legs feeling like rubber. His head was pounding but he ignored it and kissed James. It was gentle and chaste and James returned the kiss likewise. James rested his forehead against Thomas's and they remained standing there for some time in comfortable silence. Then James kissed his forehead and took his hand.

Thomas let James lead him upstairs. They found one of the bedrooms that still had a mattress on the bed.

“Sit,” said James.

Thomas sat on the edge of the bed. James kneeled before him and pushed his legs apart. He started unlacing Thomas's trousers.

“What about the time?” asked Thomas. “Shouldn’t we be getting back?”

“The fog is still too thick. Silver and Billy will handle everything just fine.”

Thomas let another heavy sigh escape him and let his muscles relax as James pushed apart his fly and reached his hand inside Thomas's pants, hand finding Thomas's half-hard cock and pulling it out. He placed one hand on James's shoulder and used the other one to gently tilt the other man’s chin up to look at him.

“I love you,” said James before Thomas could speak. “I know I haven’t said it as much as I should have, but I will, I promise.”

James’s gray-green eyes spoke volumes of his love as they always had, more so than his words ever could to Thomas and Thomas swallowed thickly.

James looked down and took Thomas inside his mouth, gently pulling on him at the same time. Thomas closed his eyes and let his head fall backwards.

Was there ever a man so lucky as he was, to have found such a companion? Thomas wondered. Then to lose him, only to find him again?

He clutched onto James's shoulder as James's lips pulled themselves over his shaft, his tongue delicately stroking underneath. He worked Thomas that way until Thomas came and James licked and swallowed it all.

Afterward James laid beside him, kissing him sweetly on the lips and throat. The black and ugly thing in Thomas had left completely, obliterated by the joy he now felt. He leaned on an elbow and wrapped his other arm around James possessively, pulling him close.

“Do you understand now?” he asked.

James gave a nod, intertwining their fingers together. “We belong together.”

Feeling like his chest was expanding blissfully Thomas nodded back. “Yes.”

They laid on the bare mattress for some time, enjoying each other’s lips and sensual touches and simply the closeness of one another and for the first time in eleven years, Thomas felt home again.

“Do you remember,” he mused, fingers brushing along James’s close cropped hair. “That time after I made you come to the opera with Miranda and I. It was piss-pouring the rain…”

“As usual,” said James with a smirk.

“Yes, as usual. And our carriage had broken a wheel. The driver was cursing up his own storm out front, half drunk and kicking at the wheel…”

James laughed out loud. “God yes. He was quite the spectacle. I rather enjoyed how offended everyone around us looked. I thought it was quite funny.”

“Yes, you did,” said Thomas in mock disapproval. “I had to elbow you in the ribs not to laugh.”

James smirked again at the memory. He sat up on his elbow and leaned over Thomas as he spoke, index finger touching his bottom lip.

“And then we all three said screw it, we’re going back inside. And you and I walked all the way down the east wing…”

“And found that tiny waiting room behind the curtains,” continued Thomas. He couldn’t help but let the grin spread over his face as the memory came to him like yesterday. James’s fingers touched his throat.

“And we had quite the go at it, didn’t we?” he asked, eyes following his fingers down his throat.

“Mmm. You knocked everything off that table, including a rare 8th century Chinese vase,” said Thomas.

“It only cracked a little,” said James with a shrug.

“Yes, then you kicked it across the carpet.”

“I was preoccupied with other matters.”

“Mmm. I remember quite vividly.”

James sat up and threw a leg across his waist, straddling him and unlacing his shirt.

“Do you?” he asked, tugging on the bottom of the shirt so that Thomas sat up slightly and pulled it over his head and flung it behind him. James took off his own shirt and slunk down over top him. Thomas’s stomach flipped at the sight of James’s sexual prowess, the motion going straight to his groin. He tried to focus on the memory.

“I remember,” he started slowly as James’s hands rubbed over his chest and ribs and stomach. “I remember you taking me on the divan first, then somehow managing to hoist me up against the wall. You bloody lifted me off my feet…”

“Yes?”

Thomas’s mouth went dry as James began kissing all over his lower stomach, tongue tracing some of the more defined muscles there and fingers slipping into his opened trousers and pulling them down.

“Then you told me to put my ankle on your shoulder, and dear God…” said Thomas.

“Yes?” said James again, grinning like the devil at him as he stood and tore off his own pants. He was already fully erect and Thomas’s breath hitched at the sight of it. James grabbed his legs and pulled him to the edge of the bed. Thomas’s heart pounded.

“Then, somehow I found myself with both ankles on your shoulders and you were holding me like that. I leaned backward and you leaned and backward and, oh…”

The combination of the memory and James’s present movements were enough to make Thomas grow hard as well. James positioned himself with a hand, his tip at the cleft of Thomas's ass. Thomas squeezed James’s arm as James pushed himself in. Thomas felt a wave of heat roll over him. He moaned as James carefully worked his way into Thomas until they were both comfortable.

Thomas settled his upper half on the bed, closing his eyes and letting James’s touch fill him up with each thrust. He made to grab fistfuls of sheets before remembering the mattress was bare.

“Mmm, damn it,” he muttered. James was looking at him through lidded eyes, his pupils huge and black with want.

“God you are so breathtaking,” said Thomas. James rolled his hips and Thomas’s breath cut off sharply as an intense wave of pleasure flooded his senses. He inhaled deeply the heady scent of himself and James and their coupling. James bent forward and draped his body over him. Thomas eagerly grappled at James’s back and pulled him into a kiss.

“Put your ankles on my shoulders,” he whispered.

A grin spread across Thomas's face.

“You are still limber enough, aren’t you?” James teased, nipping at his earlobe.

Wordlessly Thomas drew up a leg. James took it over his shoulder. The underside of Thomas's muscles were strained but not enough to take away his pleasure. He brought to the other one up and over and James shifted, hands reaching under Thomas and scooping him up.

Thomas winced, afraid this was going to be too much. After all, they weren’t as young as they used to be. However, James proved him wrong and deftly lifted him off the mattress, powerful arms bulging with effort. Thomas could scarcely breathe as James moved them to a wall, cock still inside him. He pressed Thomas against the cool stucco and started thrusting. Thomas instantly squeezed his arms, bucking against him as the sharp sensation was almost too much.

“Jesus, be careful,” he said.

James slowed down, his own breath coming out more and more ragged as he pushed himself inside Thomas. Thomas bit his lip. The need to cry out was agonizing; his body had not felt this in so long and it didn’t help that James was hitting him just right and he knew it. James’s eyes were black and his breath came out in huffs. When he met Thomas's eyes he moaned.

“God James,” Thomas said in a small and raspy voice. He kept his arms locked around the back of James's neck. Sweat broke out on his forehead and upper lip. James rolled his hips again. Thomas squirmed, pleasure so acute it was almost painful. Jesus, he was so close…

When he did climax his back arched against the wall and he groaned, holding onto James with a vise-like grip. James gradually slowed his thrusting and very carefully lowered Thomas to his feet. His legs were weak and the room blurred. James finished himself off before Thomas could move to help. He leaned one arm heavily against the wall, grimacing as he spilled out, then moaning and going lax.

They both collapsed back onto the mattress in a hot heap of tangled limbs.

“I could have helped, you know,” said Thomas when he was able to speak again. He gestured weakly to the wall. James shook his head, still panting.

“Seeing you is all I needed.”

Thomas almost wept at the words. So very like James, as it had been in the past, to be so utterly concerned with Thomas's pleasure at the sacrifice of his own. It was rare indeed to find a partner who could be so selfless.

“Even so,” Thomas replied. “I’ll make it up to you next time.”


	13. Chapter 13

They remained on the mattress, with James keeping a weather eye out the window and the fog that still lurked beyond. It was still early afternoon, however, and he wagered they could linger a bit longer here. They started discussing new plans for how James could leave his crew and Nassau behind as discreetly and safely as possible. There were no easy solutions but the longer he and Thomas exchanged possibilities the more James warmed to the idea of it all.

“It won’t be easy for you,” said James as he pulled on his breeches and fell back onto the mattress. Thomas shrugged back into his own underclothes.

“What must I do?” he asked.

“You’ll need to change like I did. Not like I did,” James corrected himself quickly. “But you’ll need to change. Your clothes, your mannerisms around other people. Your last name.”

“My mannerisms? What do you mean?”

“You cannot act like a high born man any longer, not out here. It will draw too much attention. It already has among the crew.”

Thomas frowned. He had not considered this. He had no idea how to act like someone he was not.

James squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll help you. Also, we will have to find a suitable location away from everywhere the two of us have been.”

Thomas laughed. “I suppose we could live under a rock. It would have to be a large rock.”

Now James frowned. This did present a problem. Anywhere near England was out of the question, as was the American colonies and the West Indies. They threw out new ideas and re-worked old ones until Thomas found his eyes growing heavy. He looked out the window one last time and the white nothingness that lay beyond. Dimly he remembered thinking about sea monsters lurking in the fog before he dozed off.

\---------------------------------

James woke. He’d heard a noise. He rolled over and opened his eyes. He was on his back on the mattress. Beside him was Thomas, still asleep. He smiled, happy as a lark at the sight.

“Captain?”

James jerked up in bed, heart in his throat. It was Billy, his voice carrying from downstairs. Something about his tone made James tense. He hurried off the bed and grabbed his shirt and threw it on.

“What is it?” Thomas asked, clearing his throat. James shot him a look and put a finger to his lips as he moved toward the doorway. The sleep on Thomas's face instantly vanished and he nodded.

James walked out of the room and looked down the stairs—and at the two navy officers with bayonets at Billy’s back and at Captain Hume smiling coldly up at him, dressed to the tops in his blue and gold and brass navy regalia.

“Captain Flint,” said Hume, hands tucked comfortably into his belt as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Two more officers appeared through the front door, bayonets and rifles aimed at James.

“Won’t you come join us?” said Hume smugly. “The rest of your crew are already lined up on the beach.”

James's jaw tightened until it hurt. His hand that had lingered on the door frame now clutched it until it hurt as well. How? How had the bastard found them in the fog?

Thomas was scrambling off the mattress and putting on his clothes. James removed his hand from the door frame and motioned for Thomas to be quiet and to stay back…but it was too late. Rays of sunlight had finally broken through the fog and through the window. They casted Thomas's moving shadow across the room. Hume’s eyes were evidently sharp, and he caught the movement when James did. He took a step forward, hands dropping from his belt. The two officers started up the stairs.

“Who is that with you? Have them come out, Flint,” Hume warned. The men guarding Billy poked their bayonets into his back.

“Don’t listen to them, captain,” shouted Billy. One of the guards hit him across the jaw with the butt of his rifle.

“Stop,” said James. His heart raced as he considered his options, but Thomas made the decision for him and stepped out behind James.

“Damnit, Thomas,” James hissed at him.

“There’s no other choice,” Thomas hissed back.

“Well,” said Hume from below them. He held up his hand and the two men on the stairs halted their advance. James watched as Hume’s cold cobalt eyes scrutinized Thomas up and down and then did the same to James. They each wore only their breeches and under shirts and James knew there was no other possible explanation he could have given to explain their circumstances.

James felt the color rush to his cheeks as the age-old shame washed over him.

“Well indeed,” Hume said again. James swallowed and found himself turning to Billy. The bosun’s dark eyes seemed to hold nothing but a silent apology in them. His wrists had already been bound behind his back and his jaw was already swelling from the hit. James saw other areas where he’d put up a fight. James gave him a barely perceptible nod to let him know James did not hold him at fault. Billy returned the gesture.

James slowly started down the stairs, Thomas behind him. As soon as he was within reach of the officers they grabbed him and then Thomas, roughly jerking them down to Hume and bounding their wrists. James considered fighting, but it would have been futile against the five armed men.

“This is a surprise,” said Hume, looking even more smug and glancing between him and Thomas. James kept his jaw clenched and forced himself to meet Hume’s gaze.

“I never would have pegged you for a sodomite,” said Hume. “A blow job here and there isn’t uncommon practice for seamen, but this…”

Hume walked up to Thomas and grabbed his jaw, looking at him as though he were a specimen to be examined. “This is almost too rich.”

James strained against the hands and rope holding him in place, feeling his ire stoked. Hume’s eyes locked onto him.

“You care for this man?” he asked. Beside him,Thomas jerked his jaw out of Hume’s grasp. Hume ignored it and focused on James.

“I asked if you cared for this man,” Hume repeated.

“Go to hell,” said James.

Hume’s upper lip turned into a small sneer. James could clearly see the disdain the navy commander held for him. He turned back to Thomas.

“Well let’s find out, shall we?”

He pulled out a dagger and held it to Thomas's throat. James heard Thomas's breathing hitch, his face turning away from the blade. James's heart beat faster. Hume had no reason to keep Thomas alive. He struggled again against his bondage, hard this time. Hume pressed the blade into Thomas's throat until a thin red line appeared there. James let out a guttural growl and tried to lunge.

“Ah, you do care,” Hume sang. “And is the feeling mutual, I wonder?”

Hume removed the dagger from Thomas's throat and held it against James, pressing until James felt the sharp and intense pain of the blade cutting through flesh. Thomas struggled against his captors.

“Stop it, you bastard,” he said.

Hume removed the blade from James's throat.

“Take Flint and this one…” He motioned at Billy, “To the beach with the others.”

“You’ll never get what you want,” growled Flint as the guards shoved him past Hume. He planted his feet firmly on the floor until the guards reluctantly stopped and Hume met his gaze.

“You think because you have me that you have Nassau?” asked Flint. He gave Hume’s smug smile right back to him. “There’s more pirate captains where I came from.”

“Indeed there is,” replied Hume. “And I, along with a British fleet, will be waiting for them, surrounding New Providence. The king wants your head especially, however, and quickly. So to Boston first, then to England we go.”

Hume nodded at the officers. “Take him. And you are coming with me.”

James looked over his shoulder. Hume had grabbed Thomas and was taking him in another direction.

“I don’t think I want the two of you talking,” he mused, smiling again at James. James nearly cried out, heart in his throat. The look on Thomas's face must have mirrored his own, his lips parted but instead the scream came from his blue eyes, brows furrowed together as they were torn apart.

***

The officers pushed James and Billy down on their knees alongside a long line of James's entire crew on the beach, all of them with their hands bound and officers standing close behind them, bayonets at the ready. They all turned to watch James and Billy join them, faces growing even more miserable once they saw their captain had also been captured.

James looked at Billy again but they remained silent as the officers took up positions close behind them. Then one of them spoke. James dared to glance over his shoulder at them.

“Burke, I need to relive myself. Stay here.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Towley.”

The short conversation told James that Burke was under Towley, though it appeared as though Towley was actually the younger of the two. He glanced behind him to see Burke step away from him and Billy, removing his hat and splashing water over his face. James noticed for the first time the fog was nearly gone, with little more than ghost-like wisps lingering around the bay. The sun’s light beat down on them again. While Officer Burke wetted his face James spoke in a low voice to Billy.

“What happened?”

“He used the fog to his advantage, shot an arrow through Peter, the lookout. No one heard a thing. Wasn’t until he was nearly broadside someone spotted him. By then it was too fucking late.”

James gritted his teeth.

“There is good news,” said Billy carefully, watching him. James looked sideways at him.

“You there! Shut up!”

Burke shoved the butt of his rifle against Billy’s back. Billy threw Burke a look of pure hatred.

“Fuck your mother.”

That got Billy a boot to his mouth, hard enough to send blood flying out his mouth.

“Billy,” said James in what he hoped was a calming tone. He liked Billy too much to watch a dog of the navy beat him to death on the beach. And more importantly, he had something positive to give James.

Billy quieted and fell silent again, until Officer Towley emerged from the woods.

“Officer Burke,” he yelled.

James watched with a sideways glance as Burke eyed both of them for another moment before walking over to join Towley. Billy wasted no time.

“Hume found your log book, but seein’ as how you don’t bother to write down crew names he doesn’t know who’s missing.”

“Missing?”

“John Silver and at least three others. All of them disappeared at the same time I figure.”

“Of course,” said James, narrowing his eyes as his mind worked. “Silver always was the first one to run from a fight.”

“But this time we might be luckier for it,” said James, his anger quickly dying down. Billy seemed to be like-minded.

“He knows he stands a better chance if he tries to help us,” said Billy.

“So we wait,” said James. He let out a sigh, shifting his legs on the sand.

Billy nodded, not looking any happier. “We wait.”

The last thing James wanted was to wait, because now he had time to think about Thomas and why the fuck Hume had taken him somewhere else. The thought of torture entered James's mind and he felt sick.

“Damn you Silver,” he muttered. “Hurry up.”

* **

Thomas's eyes stung from the heat of the campfire they had shoved him down in front of. Sitting miserably nearby was a group of four other men whom Thomas recognized as other crew members. They had been beaten and probably tortured judging from their appearance. Thomas's eyes shifted from them up to Captain Hume who stood before him, watching him. Hume nodded at the huddled group of men.

“They won’t tell us anything about Flint’s plans. I didn’t expect them to all remain so loyal to the man, though from what I hear Flint uses fear to instill loyalty and if we were to pardon them, they might fear his wrath. You can see my predicament.”

Thomas curled his lip up in disgust.

“You think that because you have the king’s permission to treat men like animals it is acceptable to do so? You’re no better than they are.”

Hume crouched down beside him, eyes narrowed. “Interesting you don’t seem to count yourself as one of them.”

Thomas turned and looked at him.

“A pirate, I mean,” said Hume. His cobalt eyes had a predatory gleam to them Thomas recognized. He was fishing, Thomas knew. James had been right—he stood apart from them too much, no matter how he dressed or tried to act otherwise.

“And your speech,” continued Hume. “Clearly you are well educated, which suggests a noble birth. Who are you?”

“Thomas Emmett,” he lied. “Son of Earl George Emmett from London.”

“And how did a lord come to end up allying himself with a notorious pirate?”

“The way most men who are not pirates end up with pirates,” said Thomas evenly. “I was sailing for the New World. My father’s brother is a wealthy plantation owner there. I was coming to visit him for the first time when we were attacked by Flint. I survived the initial battle and begged Flint to spare me.”

The lie came so easily to Thomas's lips he shocked himself. He paused, waiting to see if Hume was buying any of it. Hume said nothing either way but finally nodded.

“Continue.”

“When he asked me why he should spare me I lied and told him I had skills as a navigator and could make very good guesses about longitude. He believed me, but before I could attempt an escape he found out my lie, naturally. But by then…”

Thomas deliberately trailed off and looked away, feigning shame. He clenched his jaw as Hume reached out and forced his head to turn back.

“Then what?”

“By then we were lovers. Will there be anything else, or am I free to go?”

Hume stood and paced in front of him, hands clasped behind his back. Without warning he turned and kicked Thomas to the ground with a boot and pressed it over his hands.

“You fucking bastard,” Thomas hissed at him between clenched teeth.

“You’re not a bad liar,” said Hume. “I believe you gave me bits and pieces of truth. Now I want to know the real, whole truth and you are going to give it to me or you’ll end up looking every bit as bad as those men.”

Hume pointed to the group of beaten men to their left. The bones in Thomas's hands screamed in pain. Just then a gunshot rang out and Thomas watched as one of Hume’s officers dropped dead from across the fire. The other officers immediately took up their weapons. Hume’s boot left Thomas's hand.

“Over there,” shouted Hume, pointing to the woods. “Flint’s men. Find them and kill them!”

Hume marched over to the captured pirates, pulling out his sword.

“You lot, do not fucking move or I’ll kill you myself!”

Another shot rang out, further away this time. Hume stopped an officer heading towards the woods and ordered him to guard Thomas and the others while Hume made in the direction of the beach. No doubt to see if James was still there, Thomas knew. His spirits raised in hope that he had escaped and was planning a rescue.

Instead of Billy Bones or James, however, his rescuer proved to be a much more unlikely fellow.

John Silver stepped into the clearing, leaning on his crutch. Two other men joined him and snuck up behind the lone officer on guard duty, slitting his throat before he knew what had happened. They proceeded to cut the bonds of the other men. Silver tactfully hobbled over to Thomas and cut the ropes at his wrists.

“Come on, we haven’t got much time before all of Hume’s men are on us,” he said.

Thomas rose to his feet. “How did you escape?”

Silver gave him a toothy grin. “We were never captured to begin with.”

Thomas slowly smiled back, impressed with the younger man’s cleverness.

***

The gunshot made James jump, startled. Behind him Officer Towley’s eyes went wide before rolling up in his head. He fell down face first on the sand, dead. Officer Burke aimed his rifle into the woods.

“Who’s there?” he demanded. “Show yourself, or I’ll kill one of your brothers!”

Burke turned the rifle and pointed it at Billy. Billy looked at his captain and swallowed hard. Then movement caught James's eye and a figure stepped out from the woods, hands up in surrender. It was Mr. DeGroot, apparently one of the men who had avoided capture with Silver. James almost smiled at him. DeGroot met his gaze while Burke pulled back the hammer to his rifle, swinging it back around at DeGroot. James took his chance. He grabbed Burke’s leg with his bound hands and pulled as hard as could. As soon as Burke fell DeGroot rushed forward, pulling out a cleaving knife and burying it in Burke’s head.

“You there! Stop!”

The remaining two officers guarding the rest of the crew were rushing towards them, firing off their rifle shots. So pathetically predictable, thought James. The navy was not the militia, and their well structured and strict methods of warfare he had once so admired and been a part of were flimsy at best in this type of situation.

James and DeGroot avoided the poorly aimed shots. Several of James's crew reached out as the officers ran past them and managed to trip one of them. Other crew eagerly jumped on him like a pack of hungry vultures, pinning him down. His companion hesitated, caught between saving his comrade or addressing the issue of DeGroot, who was working a cleaving knife over James's bonds. The thick hemp rope snapped apart. DeGroot handed James a pistol.

“Already loaded,” said the master carpenter. James wasted no time. He cocked the hammer and turned it on to the officer, who had just finished loading a second shot in his rifle and was taking aim at James. James fired. The lead bullet hit its mark in the officer’s chest but did not kill him.

By now, however, at least two crew had freed themselves using the fallen officer’s saber. They knocked the other officer to the ground and made short work of him.

“Captain, here,” said Billy Bones. He had struggled to his feet and now held out his arms. James untied him and together they freed the rest of the crew. More shots rang out from somewhere further inland, accompanied by the distinct sound of metal hitting metal.

“This is all Silver’s doing,” said DeGroot, as though it were a bad thing, but his eyes gleaming excitedly. “There’s two more men with him, Turner and Hanslow. Hume took some brothers with him to a camp, no doubt to torture for information. Must be Silver trying to free them now.”

“We do we do, captain?”

The question came from the freed crew now gathering around him. James's mind reeled. His ability to think clearly and precisely in these situations was failing him because all he could think about was getting to Thomas and was Thomas alive and what if Hume had hurt him and what he would do to Hume if he had…

James closed his eyes. There were only two things to do: Find Thomas and get the hell off the island.

“The Scarborough’s launches are comin’ ashore!” someone shouted. All eyes turned to where the massive navy ship was anchored next to the man o’war, with three full-sized long boats in the water. All were filled to the brim with navy men rowing swiftly towards the beach. They had heard the skirmish.

“Billy,” barked James. He spoke loud enough for them all to hear. “You and Mr. DeGroot get the men back to the ship and weigh anchor immediately. I’ll stay and try to free the rest of the men and get Silver back as well. Get a lookout. If we make it back before you’re underway, send out a boat. If not, then you go on without us.”

“You want us to leave…without you?” DeGroot asked, almost in shock that his captain would sacrifice himself for the sake of a handful of brothers. James recognized the shock and smiled bitterly. He could give a fuck about his so-called “brothers.” Billy spoke next, addressing everyone.

“You’ve all got your orders! Let’s get the hell off this bloody island!”

His words stirred the men into action, and they grabbed the launch boats already ashore and piled in them. James nodded firmly at DeGroot, who was still reluctant to believe his orders. Finally, with the navy’s boats nearly ashore, he gave James a firm nod and looked him in the eye. It was the closest to a ‘thank you’ James knew he would ever get from the man, and he returned the look. DeGroot left and joined his crew.

“I’ll come with you,” said Billy once DeGroot was gone. “You can’t rescue him all by yourself.”

Brave, loyal Billy. James clamped his hand on Billy’s shoulder.

“No. Join the men and get out of here. If we’re to take Nassau back we need the man o’war and as many able-bodied seamen we can get. That includes you. Good-bye, Billy.”

James moved to go into the woods. Billy stopped grabbed his arm.

“Good-bye?”

The younger bosun studied his captain, brows furrowed until a slow realization crept over his face.

“You know you won’t make it back in time,” he said at last. “You’ll either get captured or killed. And you’ll risk that…for him?”

James nodded, no longer afraid or ashamed. Billy’s dark eyes softened, the worry lines fading from his forehead.

“All right then,” he said. “At least tell Silver to get his ass back here. I’ll keep a boat ready.”

James thumped his back. “Good man. Now go.”

“Captain?” Billy called out as they parted. James turned.

“Good luck.”

James didn’t trust himself to reply. He met Billy’s gaze one last time and nodded. Then he hurried into the jungle-like woods that spread across the interior of the island. He went past Richard Guthrie’s estate and towards the north side of the island and just as he reached a clearing and heard voices he ran smack into John Silver.

“Ah, Jesus!” cried Silver, stumbling backwards and catching himself with his crutch. He lowered the pistol he had aimed at James's chest.

“Thank God,” he said. “The men? Are they free?”

“They are,” said James. “And on their way back to the warship. Hume’s entire ship is emptying onto the beach as we speak…”

James's words trailed off as Thomas appeared through the clearing behind Silver. Hiding his utter relief was impossible. James's chest fell and he closed his eyes. Mr. Turner and Mr. Hanslow also joined them. Thomas gave him a tiny nod, sapphire eyes bright and filled with grim determination. He was all right.

The reunion was interrupted by another gunshot and Mr. Hanslow took a bullet in the back of the head.

“Shit!” shouted James. He looked at Silver and Mr. Turner. “You both head due south. Thomas and I will go west. I’ll try and keep them off your backs. Move!”

Then James reached out and grabbed Silver’s shirt sleeve.

“Wait!”

Silver looked at him, eyes wide. They had precious seconds.

“Tell Vane, if you see him, that we have an understanding and I hope he finds her. Now go.”

If he was never to see the other pirate captain again, he wanted to leave Vane with some sense of their shared alliance as something he’d actually—almost—enjoyed, but more importantly Charles might be the sole living person who could understand all of his current motivations, and that was no small matter to James.

Silver’s brows furrowed together in confusion but he nodded all the same and took off. James watched briefly as Mr. Turner helped Silver through the woods and back towards the south side of the island. James fired his pistol into the woods. He heard the officers shout, crashing through the underbrush towards them and away from Silver and Turner.

“What’s your plan?” asked Thomas as he hurried after James heading east through the thick vegetation.

“Circle back towards the beach once we’ve lost them and join the others. The man o’war should still be close enough—“

“Stop there!”

Two officers jumped out in front of them, sabers already out and blocking James's path. Damn. Moments later Hume stepped out from behind the trees, huffing and puffing and his pistol aimed at James. The disdain on his face was showing. He approached James, cold eyes locked onto him and punched him hard in the stomach. James let a muffled cry escape his lips. He heard Thomas shout from beside him, but something hard crashed down over his head and all went black.


	14. Chapter 14

James stirred beside him in the filthy hay.

“James?”

Thomas scooted himself towards the other man as best as the manacles around his ankles and wrists would allow. The ridiculously heavy things clanged and drug loudly over the bare wooden floor. James rolled over towards him, eyes slowly fluttering open. He coughed and rolled over more.

“What—“

James suddenly shot up, eyes opened in delayed alarm. Thomas winced as James winced, grabbing the back of his head and pulling his hand away with drying blood stuck to it.

“Easy,” said Thomas. “You took quite a hit from that barbarian.”

James looked at his wrists and the heavy chains linking his ankles together. Thomas watched as his eyes roamed around their surroundings before turning to Thomas.

“Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

He recognized the wild look coming to James's eyes at the thought of his being harmed. “I’m fine,” said Thomas as gently as possible. “We are in the hold of the Scarborough, bound for Boston as Hume promised. You’ve been out for a few hours.”

James winced again. “It smells like shit.”

“Yes. And animal piss and something I cannot identify.”

“Are we alone?”

“Most of the time. There are two younger officers in charge with checking on us. I believe they stand just outside the hatchway.”

Thomas raised a finger to his lip. James nodded and lowered his voice.

“Do you know if the others got away?”

“I think so. When we were being taken to the Scarborough, your man o’war was sailing out of the bay and I’m sure I saw a launch boat still being pulled up from her side. I assume Mr. Silver and the others were on it.”

James sighed and nodded. “Good for them. As for us…”

He gave Thomas a grim smile.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I intended us to be with Silver. I failed.”

“Stop it,” Thomas said. It came out harsher than he’d intended, but he could already tell James was planning on blaming himself once again for everything he possibly could.

“You did everything you could, under the circumstances,” Tomas continued. “More than what many men would have done. Hume was getting ready to torture me with those men he dragged away from the beach. If not for you and Silver, he would have. So stop feeling guilty before you even start.”

James looked at him, eyes moist. He nodded. They fell silent for the next few minutes and Thomas could almost feel the gravity of their situation sink down upon them, making his heart heavy. If Hume successfully transported them to Boston he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt they would both be hanged. He supposed he could pray for a hurricane, or bad winds, or pirates…

James broke the silence, asking if there was anything in the hold that could be of some use. Thomas told him he had already checked; the room was nearly bare, save for two wooden buckets beside them to serve as chamber pots. The room was so dim he could only vaguely make out the shapes of some wooden planks and a few barrels on the other side, nothing within reaching distance.

They fell into silence again. Thomas periodically glanced over at James, who, despite his head injury, seemed to be lost in thought. Thomas hoped it was about getting them the hell out of here. If he had learned anything about James Flint it was that he was as resourceful as he was tenacious.

Thomas leaned back against the hard wall, trying in vain to adjust the chains and manacles he wore to something even remotely comfortable. Dark memories came to him then, memories he’d spent the last half-year trying to forget; memories of Bethlam Royal Hospital and how they had put him in equally heavy chains when he had first arrived. His father’s men had explained to the warden how distraught Thomas was over his wife’s affair with his best friend, that he might be a danger to himself. So naturally the solution was to lock him up like an animal or one of the true lunatics who inhabited the place.

Thomas glanced up at the hatchway and the wan light coming from it. He tried to shake away the bad thoughts but the dankness of the hold, the straw strewn about him and the chains made it difficult. Bethlam had been much the same. Thomas had kept grieving that first week, smiling bitterly when they thought it was over his wife alone. Yet he hadn’t lashed out, hadn’t acted like the animal they were treating him as such. Surely, he had thought, they would remove his chains and allow him a room with a soft mattress, at least. No such luck.

Thomas thumped his head against the wall of the hold and closed his eyes miserably. By the end of that second week he’d grown angry at his treatment and angry at his captors. He did lash out then, cursing them smugly when they dropped a plate of worm-eaten food at his feet and even managing to box one of them in the ear when he dared to bend down and mock Thomas’s family name which he had effectively dragged through the dirt. That had incensed him beyond reason, to think that he was getting the blame for his father’s actions.

Thomas opened his eyes but the memories remained. He looked over at James. He had slouched down against the wall, chin slumped against a shoulder, sleeping. It was frightening how he looked more at peace in such a state—arms and legs bound and dried blood peaking from the back of his head—than he did lively and awake.

Thomas recalled James’s re-telling of what had happened in Charlestown and how they had chained him in the town square for everyone to gawk at like a beast and he winced at the thought of it. At least in Bethlam he’d had some privacy.

He eventually kept dozing off himself, but everything was too uncomfortable to get any real sleep. Then one of the officers charged with their guard duty came down the steep stairs, hatch creaking open then closed. He carried a lantern with him. Thomas saw it was the younger of the two, and young he was. Thomas figured he couldn’t be older than twelve. His tall officer’s hat nearly took over his head, where a mass of short and curly blonde hair peaked out. His youthful face was pale and smooth and the officer’s saber at his belt nearly touched the ground. He nodded curtly at Thomas before turning a wary eye to James, who had stirred when the hatch had opened. The boy sat the lantern down and checked their empty chamber pots. Thomas watched James follow his movements, that stoic mask pulled over his face. It clearly made the boy nervous. By now Thomas knew that this one was gentle and probably gullible, though he acted the part of a tough naval officer.

“Officer Howl, if you please, sir,” he addressed to James with another nod. James eyed the boy up and down, causing Officer Howl to squirm.

“Those cuffs,” said James, nodding at the boy’s sleeves. “Is that an astrolabe engraving?”

The boy glanced down at the brass buttons on his sleeves and nodded. Thomas saw the nervous glance he threw James.

“They are,” he replied in an even tone.

James eyed him again with a smirk. “You’re a sailing master, then?”

The boy hesitated, lips parted. James cut him off.

“Ah, an apprentice then, still training under the master. It will take you years to learn to navigate like one of them.”

The boy was clearly taken aback at James's level of knowledge. Thomas fought the urge to look at James and return his smirk.

“How do you know such things?” the boy asked, eyes wide as an owl’s. “You’re nothing more than a common criminal.”

“Am I?” countered James.

The boy let out a huff and straightened himself, trying to reclaim his authority. Thomas licked his chapped lips, seeing a possible opportunity.

“Don’t bother with him,” he said, giving his head a quick and dismissive jerk towards James. “He’ll try to play mind games with you if you let him.”

Officer Howl’s shoulders relaxed some and he gave Thomas a weak smile.

“You’re the one Hume said was not a pirate, am I right?”

“Yes,” said Thomas with a slight bow of his head. Howl’s gaze softened further.

“You are right. I shouldn’t engage with the prisoners. Captain Hume says they don’t deserve our attention.”

“And he’s right,” said Thomas quickly. “I myself am a rather interesting conversationalist, but this one, he’s dangerous.”

Howl threw a dirty look to James, convinced now that it was he and Thomas against the ruthless pirate captain. Inwardly Thomas praised his own ingenuity, just a little. Howl concluded his visit by telling them he would return shortly with some food and water after the dinner bell sounded.

“May I humbly ask, Officer Howl, what our heading is?” Thomas asked as contritely as possible as Howl turned to go up the stairs. The boy hesitated.

“Well, I don’t suppose it matters if you know or not,” he said with a shrug. “We are heading northwest, bound for the Americas. We should make it to Florida in a few days’ time.”

“Thank you very much, Officer Howl.”

The boy smiled and nodded again before leaving them. Once he was gone Thomas turned to look at James. James was smirking at him.

“I would say that was quite the performance, worthy of the opera house, except that it was just you being you.”

Thomas scooted towards him again, lowering his voice.

“This could work to our advantage. Officer Howl is the more malleable of the two of them. The second officer is aged around sixteen or so and is much more quick-witted. If I can get Howl to genuinely like me, to trust me…”

“He might give us a way out of here,” James finished for him, though not without skepticism leaking into his voice. “You really think you can get him to trust you enough to remove those?” James nodded at his manacles, “Before we stop over at Florida?”

Thomas hadn’t yet considered the time line. A few days, that was all he had. Still…

“That boy is as gentle as they come,” he said. “And he already likes me anyway. However I’ll need your help if we’re to make quick work of him.”

“Oh?”

Thomas nodded. “He doesn’t like you, so I’ll need to distance myself from you. You will need to act like the vicious pirate he thinks you are. Then, when the ship is near Florida, we shall have a disagreement and I shall beg him to move me to over there,” Thomas nodded towards the other end of the wall.

Thomas paused, waiting for a response. James’s chest rose and fell quietly. He looked down at his boots.

“So he unchains you, starts to move you, then what?”

“Then we overpower him and make our escape.”

“How do you plan on overpowering him?”

Thomas hesitated. He wasn’t exactly sure how he would do such a thing. Knocking him into unconsciousness seemed logical…

“You’ll have to kill him,” said James.

Thomas blinked. “What?”

James nodded. “You will. It’s the only way. There’s nothing in here you could use to knock him out. You will have to grab him with one arm and use your other hand to cover his mouth as soon as you grab him. Otherwise he will cry out. Then you’ll have to pinch his nose so tight that no air passes through and you’ll have to hold him like that until he stops breathing.”

Thomas tried to hide his scorn. “And here I thought the term ‘vicious pirate’ no longer applied to you.”

But James did not look apologetic. “Thomas, this is the only way. If you can think of another way for us to escape without drawing attention, please tell me.”

Thomas wanted to offer an alternative but nothing came to mind. He thought desperately of something, anything, that did not include killing Officer Howl, but the severity of their situation weighed down on him and he could see no other logical course of action. His wrists sweated under the heavy manacles and he jerked hard on them as a flash of anger came over him.

“Damnit.”

He felt those sea green eyes on him. Thomas sighed and thumped his head back against the wall rather than meet them. He was angry at James, angry at his insistence to kill this boy who had barely begun to live his life…and yet it the conclusion that it might be necessary slowly crept up inside him like molasses, thick and heavy. He told himself the boy thought they were both monsters, that he bought into the lie that his and James’s love was a sin, just as piracy was a sin. Even then, Thomas could still see the boy’s gentle smile, his determination to be a good sailor shining in his eyes. He clenched his jaw.

“Thomas.”

He made James wait a long minute before he turned his head against the wall. James offered him an outstretched palm on the floor.

“Come here.”

He wanted to be stubborn, wanted to deny the offer and stay angry but he could not. The hold felt too much like Bethlam, too much like the cold and damp isolation he had known there. Thomas scooted back over to James and took his hand. James’s fingers linked between his own. The contact eased Thomas’s scorn until it was little more than an irritation.

***

The next several days proved hard. The longer Thomas sat in the hold, chained to the floor, the more restless and irritable he grew. And he felt insufferably hot, though James did not seem to be bothered. He, however, had broken out in a sweat, though his face felt cold. It was a sure sign of illness, he knew.

Nevertheless he forced himself to put on a good face when Officer Howl came down. It was usually his companion, whom Howl said was Officer Kenway and the less friendly of the two who came in the mornings and some afternoons. That left the evenings for Howl, who lingered a few minutes longer with each visit as he warmed to Thomas's seemingly genuine affection. By the fourth day of their imprisonment the lad was all smiles at Thomas and greeted him with a ‘Good day, Mr. Thomas.’ He continued to ignore James for the most part, and James continued to scowl at him and make sarcastic comments about his position as master’s apprentice. One evening Howl screwed up his courage enough to meet James’s gaze and say “It’s too bad you are not a learned man like Mr. Thomas. He could teach you a thing or two about how to be a gentleman.”

James had let out a hearty, deep throated laugh at that, teeth flashing white. Despite not feeling well Thomas had smirked when Howl wasn’t looking.

Thomas once again inquired to their position. Howl told him they had been making good time and should be within sight of Florida within the next day or two. Thomas then promised Howl he would recite a part of the Iliad to the boy from memory if he came down and told him as soon as they saw land.

Thomas was grateful when he left. He felt wretched and keeping up appearances was tiring. That night he was unable to sleep at all because his hands had developed a slight tremor and his stomach ached. That could easily be attributed to the stale food he’d been eating, but his stomach had been like iron by the time of his release from Bethlem.

Angrily he sat up in the middle of the night. It was this place, this place that reminded him so much of that hellhole.

“This fucking place,” he heard himself say out loud. Again he tried adjusting the grip of the iron bands around his wrists. Too tight, he thought; they were too tight. He twisted and turned and scratched at his skin, feeling it burn as his nails dug in.

“Thomas,” James whispered. Thomas shook his wrist. The heavy chains clanged loudly in the night.

“Thomas!”

“I’m sorry, it’s these bloody chains,” he said through gritted teeth. “And this room. It’s too much like the asylum. I cannot stand it.”

“Stop it. You’re hurting yourself.”

“I don’t care.”

He continued scratching at his wrists, unable to stop. He kicked angrily, upsetting the chains around his ankles.

James’s chains clanged as he scooted across the floor. He grabbed hold of Thomas’s hands, stilling him. Thomas heard himself panting. His heart was racing, though he didn’t know why. James raised a hand to his forehead. As Thomas’s eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw the worried expression on his face.

“You’re covered in sweat. And your hands…”

James held his hands in his own. Thomas willed them to stop shaking but they would not.

“I don’t know what it is,” he admitted miserably.

“I do,” James said softly after a time. “Your body is craving drink.”

Thomas opened his mouth to protest but then closed it. He thought for a moment before confusion gave way to shock.

“That’s not possible. I don’t think—“

“It is,” said James firmly, stilling holding his hands. “You’ve drank everyday for months, and without it your body is revolting against you. I’ve seen this in sailors many times before.”

“What happens to them?”

“If the condition isn’t too severe they recover on their own. I don’t think yours is too severe.”

“And if it is?”

“It’s not.”

“If it is?”

James sighed and stretched his legs out in front of him, back against the wall. He invited Thomas to his chest. Thomas rested his head just under James’s chin and James wrapped his arms around him protectively. Thomas’s heart fluttered when James sifted his fingers through his hair. It was a gesture he only ever made to offer comfort in their most intimate moments and Thomas hadn’t felt it in eleven years.

“You’ll be fine, I swear it,” James whispered.

***

When the morning of their sixth day out to sea dawned it was Officer Howl came down with breakfast instead of his older companion. Thomas ate less than half of his dried biscuit and salted egg. He had no appetite for solid food. He felt James watching him, willing him to finish his meal. He didn’t speak however because Officer Howl was in the middle of telling Thomas about their heading.

“The captain says we are less than a day from the tip of Florida, Mr. Thomas,” he said politely. Thomas looked up sharply—too sharply. From the corner of his eye he saw James do the same. Luckily Howl mistook his concern.

“I am sorry, Mr. Thomas,” he said, turning sympathetic. “I’ve grown to like you, but even so, my sailing master tells me all me must be judged for their crimes. Even the nice ones.”

“Indeed they must,” said Thomas. “And you have been a most enjoyable captor, young Master Howl.”

Upon being called ‘master’ the boy beamed proudly at Thomas, cherub-like features making it almost painful for Thomas to look at him.

“I’ll see you later this eve,” said Howl before taking his leave. He paused at the top of the stairs.

“Try to get some rest,” he said. “You don’t look well, Mr. Thomas.”

As soon as the hatch closed behind him Thomas roughly shoved his plate across the floor. He heard James make an exasperated noise.

“You need to eat,” he said softly.

“You know what I need,” Thomas snapped back. He wanted nothing more than to drown himself in whiskey or rum or wine or whatever the hell…James was looking at him with a pained expression and he instantly regretted the words. As if James cold magically produce liquor for him.

“I’m sorry,” he said miserably.

“It’s all right. Try to get some rest. You’ve got to be strong for what’s to come.”

 

Thomas tried in vain to find peace that night. Each time he managed to doze off he dreamt of endless chains and darkened rooms filled with the mad. He dreamt of the screams of people getting tortured and raped and beaten and of wringing his dead father’s neck.

He dreamt of James and Miranda coming to rescue him, of them walking out of the asylum with their arms threaded through his own, reassuring him that everything was going to be fine now that they were all together again.

He awoke drenched in cold sweat and trembling all over. Everything was pitch black around him in the middle of the night. He sat up, chains clanking lightly, and wrapped his arms around his knees. His balled his hands into fists until it hurt and took deep breaths, trying to slow down his racing heart. It was the last bit of the dream that had done it, had sent his emotions over the edge. He tried to steel himself against it, against the onslaught of images of his late wife.

He choked back a sob. How many times had he had that damned dream? Fifty? A hundred? He hated it more and more with each dreaming of it.

“Thomas?”

“I’m fine. I can’t sleep.”

His voice hitched, caught in his emotions, and inevitably he heard James scooting towards him in the dark. He didn’t move, keeping himself curled up in a sitting ball. When James hesitantly touched him he almost recoiled.

“Jesus, you’re soaking wet.”

A second later James's arms were around him, hugging him tight when others might have turned away.

“It’s that fucking dream of that fucking place,” Thomas choked out, fighting back tears. At least in the dark James couldn’t see them. He didn’t say anything about Miranda for fear of adding to James's already substantial guilt.

He felt the bridge of James's nose against his cheek, his warm breath tickling down his neck.

“Tell me.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I know. But tell me anyway.”

“Why?”

“Because you need to and because I can’t bear to see you suffer.”

Thomas drew back from him enough so he could dimly make out James's eyes.

“But you want to hear about it? About what it was like for me there?”

James squeezed his arms. “No, but as I said, you need to get it off your chest. And besides, I told you my story. Now tell me yours, or we’ll never truly get over what’s happened.”

James's voice was raw again and his final words struck a hard but truthful blow to Thomas. That was what they had been struggling with all along, wasn’t it? From the moment he had opened that door to the guest house in Virginia to this moment right now…it had all been about the past. Even the promise of intimacy had proven a challenge at times; they had both changed so much.

Thomas let out a shaky breath and began. He talked about his arrival to Bethlam and how he had struggled to maintain his dignity that first week, then of being chained to a wall—sometimes around the neck, depending on the guard. He spoke of his single visit from Peter Ashe and how he had begged Peter to tell him where James and Miranda were but that Peter did not know, which was a lie. He told of how that was the last visit he received from any friend or relation, that once word had spread that he had lost his mind he had only the other patients for company.

He watched James seethe quietly beside him as he recounted his tale, of the corruption and bribery and the sometimes vengeful guards who would not allow him a shred of his old dignity and would kick or punch him at the first sign of defiance. He told of how it was the warden who informed him that his father had disowned him, stripped his name and title of lord off of every document and invitation within Parliament’s circles. Then finally he told of the long letter sent by Peter, as eloquently written as anything he himself could come up with, that had arrived when the hospital was facing an overcrowding problem.

When he was finished they sat in silence for some time. He could almost feel James simmering with anger beside him.

“Damn Peter, damn them all,” James finally muttered in a deep voice.

“I always wondered why he wrote it,” mused Thomas. “It was a rather grim visit, and he gave no indication he would ever fight to get me out; he seemed to resign me to my fate. Perhaps it was his way of making amends for conspiring with my father to have me thrown in there in the first place.”

James leaned forward off the wall, eyes darting around thoughtfully. He stroked his hand over his beard.

“When did you say you received the letter?” he asked.

Thomas thought for a moment. “It was late August…around the 22nd, I believe. I was released a week later. Why?”

“Fuck. The nerve of him…”

Thomas sat forward. “James?”

“Vane and I sacked Charlestown exactly two week before that. He must have written it the very day Miranda and I were guests in his house, after we had spoken to him the first time. The same day as her death.”

Thomas watched as James blinked and closed his eyes and Thomas felt an echo of what must have been the mind-numbing pain James had experienced since that day.

“Then perhaps there was still a glimmer of the old Peter Ashe in him after all,” said Thomas.

James sneered. “No. He was always that Peter Ashe. He chose to betray you, betray all of us, for the sake of his own stinking reputation. That’s all that mattered. You know it. I know it. Fuck him. Fuck all of England.”

For once Thomas did not dispute James's heated comments.

“I agree with you completely,” he said gravely. “And yet, the thought of never setting foot on England’s shores again, of never revisiting all those places where we were together, of those steps at Whitehall when I first laid eyes on you…it makes me terribly sad.”

James's response was suddenly drowned out by the ringing of the bell and the muffled shout of “Land ahead!” from above them.

“But it’s still dark outside,” said Thomas.

“No,” said James, turning and struggling to his knees to look above them, where through the cracks in the wood the smallest rays of gray light seeped through.

“It’s dawn,” he said.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark!Thomas makes a decision in order for them to escape Captain Hume, giving him a taste of what James's life as a pirate is like. 
> 
> ...Also, Santa Ybel Island is now Sanibel, where my hubby and I honeymooned. :)

\--------------------------------

It was Officer Kenway, the lad of sixteen, who gave them breakfast. Silently Thomas cursed. This was no good. Before the day was out they would make landfall, and he and James would still be prisoners. Thomas turned on his charm for Kenway, asking if it were possible if Howl could come see them soon. He told Kenway that Howl was very much looking forward to hearing Thomas recite part of the Iliad to him. Kenway’s frown and grunt offered him little hope, yet it was still too soon to give into complete despair.

They spent the next several hours sweating from worry and heat, until the midday bell rang.

“He will come, I know it,” said Thomas.

“You must be ready if he does,” said James. “I meant it, Thomas. You cannot hesitate.”

“I know, blast you. Quit talking about it.”

“Let me do it.”

Thomas snapped around to look at him.

“What? You cannot. He doesn’t trust you.”

“Once he unlocks you throw him to me. I’ll grab him and—“

“Don’t be ridiculous. He’ll cry out before you can stop him.”

“Perhaps not. Perhaps…”

“James!”

Just as Thomas cut him off and looked at him with pleading eyes the hatchway above creaked open and shut. They instantly cut off their argument. A moment later Officer Howl came into view. James looked at him in earnest and mouthed the words ‘now.’

Thomas screwed up his courage and thought only about the next few seconds. They hadn’t exactly rehearsed how their mock disagreement was supposed to go, but Thomas had gone over it in his head dozens of times. He made a show of madly scrambling as far away from James as his bonds would allow. As Officer Howl came down the stairs and saw them James leapt towards Thomas, intending to grab his leg.

“Come here you little fucker,” he growled. “If you so much as look at me the wrong way again I’ll cut you from spleen to gullet!”

Thomas kicked at him and looked to Howl.

“Officer Howl, please help!”

As soon as Howl saw them he pulled out his sword and dashed over to James, bringing the blade up to his throat.

“Stop this instant, you dog!”

Howl’s young voice held all the aggression of a mourning dove, though his cherubic face was now scowling quite deeply, as though James had offended him personally. Howl pressed the point of his blade until it touched James's skin, and James slowly backed up to the wall, throwing a hateful look to Thomas.

“Get this well breed mongrel away from me,” he said.

“Stay where you are, or I shall be forced to take action,” said Howl. When James made no further movements Howl rushed over to Thomas.

“Mr. Thomas, sir! Have you been injured?”

“No, my lad, I am unscathed. But please, I beg you, allow me to move to the corner over there, away from him.”

Howl looked over at James and then back to Thomas. He frowned.

“I do not know if I should—“

“But if I am harmed, good Master Howl, will that not reflect poorly on you as our guard?”

Howl had obviously not considered this; he face softened and he looked down at his feet for a moment.

“I suppose I could. In fact, I should,” he said with growing confidence. “How else can you recite Homer to me if I allowed this pirate to wound you?”

“How indeed?” said Thomas, smiling up at him and offering Howl his wrists. Howl reached for the heavy iron set of skeleton keys on his belt. As he fidgeted with the lock Thomas stole a glance to James. James was watching them through his brows, jaw tight. Thomas felt his pulse accelerate. A fresh layer of perspiration broke out over his forehead. Howl unlocked his wrists and stuck the key into the lock at his ankles.

Thomas looked skyward and briefly squeezed his eyes shut. He was never a religious man by any stretch of the imagination yet the common habit came even to him in his most dire time. He heard the heavy click as the second lock was undone. He waited until Howl had carefully set the heavy chains aside and allowed Thomas to stand.

It was the first time he had stood in a week and Thomas was unprepared for the throbbing and aching in his leg muscles.

“There there, Mr. Thomas,” said Howl, offering his thin arm for Thomas to grasp. “You just need a good stretch, is all.”

Thomas waited a moment until he felt his footing was solid. Then he forced the most difficult smile of his life as he laid a hand over the boy’s.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. For an instant he watched as Howl looked at him with a shadow of confusion. Then Thomas grabbed the hand on his arm and roughly swung the small boy around to his chest, one arm coming to wrap around and squeeze his arms around his sides.

“What—“

It was all Officer Howl could get out before Thomas clamped his hand around his mouth. Howl struggled against him furiously, so much so that he nearly squirmed his way through Thomas's grip. Thomas fell to his side, using the floor to help still the boy as his fingers found Howl’s nose and pinched until he felt the boy’s nostrils close up.

“Thomas, give him to me,” said James.

Thomas was ready to do just that. When he looked up at James, however, he changed his mind. James was staring at him with that pained expression, hands outstretched to take the boy from him and to spare Thomas this particular pain and sin. Yet Thomas recognized with razor sharp clarity the tortured soul beyond that expression, the soul that had killed and killed and did not want to kill anymore.

“No,” Thomas said through clenched teeth as Howl writhed against him with every last ounce of energy. Thomas threw a leg around him. It should not have been this hard to subdue a twelve-year old boy, but he was weak and sick.

He felt blood seep through his fingers as Howl bit his hand yet Thomas did not let go. At last the boy’s struggle weakened and his small body began to twitch in its death throes. Thomas closed his eyes against it and waited until he had stilled completely, arm muscles burning with effort. Then he cautiously relaxed his arm and hand. Officer Howl’s face was slightly blue and he did not stir. The only sound Thomas could hear was his own heartbeat, throbbing in his ears. He released the body and pushed himself away, staring numbly.

The two remaining warm bodies were silent for a long minute. Thomas scarcely noticed much of anything, listening to the pounding of his pulse as though it were the only sound of Time in the world. Then James moved, chains rattling.

“Thomas, the keys. Quickly.”

Thomas blinked, forcing his mind to function normally again. He reached over and picked up the fallen key ring from the scattered straw and hurried to James. Luckily the same key worked for his locks as well and in a moment they were both free.

“Officer Howl?”

They froze. The voice belonged to Officer Kenway. Howl’s visit was taking too long.

James very quietly took Howl’s body and dragged it away from the view of the stairs. He dug around the boy’s waist and took off his belt with his sword. The hatchway creaked open. Golden light from the afternoon sun criss-crossed through the hatchway and hit the floor. James motioned for Thomas to follow him behind the stairs and into darkness. Thomas eyed the saber in James's hand. He knew what James meant to do and his stomach churned at the thought. For some reason he could not fathom, it was easier picturing himself suffocating Officer Howl, a lad of twelve, that it was to imagine James cutting through someone else.

Kenway’s heavy boots fell on the stairs.

“Howl,” he barked, sounding irritated. “What in blazes are you—“

Thomas watched his figure freeze as he neared the bottom of the stairs.

“Oh!”

Thomas's entire body tensed as the older officer reached for the hilt of his saber. He never got the chance to unsheathe it. James leapt from behind the stairs and grabbed him, raising his own saber and sliding it across Kenway’s throat.

Thomas flinched as blood sprayed everywhere, splattering across half of James's face as he turned away. Thomas watched as Kenway’s lips parted and released a wet, gurgled sound before his body collapsed to the floor in a heap. The thumping sound was so final Thomas winced.

James wiped his blade on a pant leg and turned to Thomas as he fastened Howl’s belt on his waist.

“Come on,” he said in a very controlled and subdued tone. “Put on the other belt. We must hurry.”

Thomas realized he was all but cowering in the corner behind the stairs, still staring at Kenway’s body. He glanced down at his shaking hands. His own reaction was putting James on edge. Slowly he composed himself as best he could and approached the body. James gently took the boy’s belt and handed it to Thomas. Thomas put it on. The sword and its accompanying sheath felt queer on him—he’d never worn such a thing. Then again, there had been that one time when he’d been badgering James about his swordsmanship skills and James had let him hold his officer’s sword to get a feel for it…

Thomas jumped when James's hand rested on his shoulder. With a bloodied face his eyes searched Thomas's with concern.

“I’m sorry. I did not want you to do it. Why didn’t you give him to me? Why?”

Thomas looked down and considered his feet. His numbness faded slightly as he now felt the painful burden he had placed on himself in helping to save his friend and lover. Finally he looked up.

“Because I saw it in your eyes that you did not want to take his life anymore than I did. I wanted to spare you another death.”

James looked away. Just then more shouts came from above deck, rudely snapping both of them back into their dire situation.

James jumped into action, telling Thomas to help him search the few scant supplies on the other side of the hold. They struck gold with one of the barrels. It contained a large amount of flammable pitch, usually used by pirates to set gunboats aflame. Now, using both officers’ deep-set hats, they scooped up gobs of the stuff for a similar use. Thomas discovered Kenway carried pieces of flint rock in his tinderbox. After spreading the pitch all around the hold except for an area around the stairs, James struck the flint on the far side of the hold and ignited the pitch. He hurried back to the staircase with Thomas and they waited.

James did not need to voice out loud their immediate danger. If no one saw or smelled the smoke soon, they would either have to risk suffocation or burning. The alternative was to leave the hold in broad daylight with no distraction.

Thomas found the best way to cope with the near insanity of their circumstance was to focus only on the moment. He prayed someone would see the fire soon. He focused his hands again, now coated with thick black gunk which would not come off no matter how hard he wiped them against his pant leg. He inhaled smoke. Already it was growing thick and dark gray and drifting towards them. The fire spread at a steady pace wherever they had spread the pitch. The wood under and around it was dry and caught easily.

“Any moment now,” said James. His eyes flicked from the hatchway to the belt around Thomas’s waist.

“Listen to me. Keep one hand wrapped around the sheath and the other around the hilt at all times.”

He showed Thomas his meaning easily enough.

“Now you’ll be ready at a second’s notice if you need to use it.”

“I’m praying I do not, but I will if I must.”

James's eyes hardened with determination. “You will not. I’ll see to it. Just follow my every movement exactly. Stay right behind me, no matter what.”

Hurried footsteps directly above them cut off Thomas's reply, along with worried voices. Then the hatched way opened abruptly. Thomas heard, then saw two figures alight on the stairs. They needed only a moment to access the problem.

“What the hell—“

“Damnation. The hold is on fire. Get buckets! Quickly.”

The figures scurried back out of the hold, nearly tripping over each other. Thomas allowed himself a tiny bit of relief at the fact that neither man had seemed to notice the missing prisoners.

Thomas's eye inched over to look at the two bodies behind them. They hadn’t been missed yet, either.

There was no time for further thought. James had clutched his arm in earnest, sea green eyes meeting his own for a brief flash before he charged up the stairs. Thomas followed. They took the stairs two and three at a time. When James shoved open the hatch Thomas tensed, mouth going dry as he gripped his sword and sheath. Daylight flooded his senses as they exited; it was so intense Thomas nearly cried out. He shielded his face with an arm, eyes turning to slits. He heard James mutter a curse, and they both had to stop for a precious moment. Then James grabbed his arm and jerked.

“Come on!”

Eyes tearing, Thomas forced them open again and ran after James. He saw blurred figures around them, beginning to shout. James was running in a straight line across the deck and towards the railing. The distance wasn’t really that long, yet Thomas felt it was a thousand miles away as navy men all around them began clamoring and shouting about the growing fire in the hold and water and the two escaping prisoners on deck.

All this Thomas heard in a few seconds’ time, along with the unmistakable cocking of guns. Mixed orders were being given: fire, don’t fire; kill them, stop them. They were nearly at the edge of the Scarborough now. Thomas heard heavy boot steps very close behind and he ran faster, not bothering to look. The more his eyes adjusted the less he wished to see. Ahead of them, James was knocking into a sailor who had attempted to stop him, plowing the man to the floor.

It slowed him down for an instant and Thomas nearly ran into him. Then shots rang out, and right before them came a strong and commanding and enraged voice and Thomas knew it was Hume, ordering his men to open fire.

One shot, two shots rang out. The second one slammed into the mizzenmast pole right beside James as he ran past it. Almost there. A third shot. Thomas focused only on James, on running, on pumping his leg muscles as hard and fast as he ever had. His hands left his sword to aid in running. He was going to make it…

The fourth shot rang out and sharp pain shot into Thomas's right calf. He was hit but the pain was not nearly as strong as he figured it should have been; just a flesh wound—he hoped. He stumbled for a second. But by now they were at the railing and James's hand shot out to grab him and support him. He seemed to bodily push Thomas up on the railing.

“Jump. Now!”

Thomas reached for James's hand, refusing to go without him. Without hesitating James took it, pulling Thomas over the rail with him. It wasn’t until Thomas was falling that the terror of it struck him. He did not know the height from which they dropped, but it had to be at least thirty feet. His heart leapt to his throat as he fell, hand breaking away from James in the process. Had he taken a breath before? Could he take one now? He tried, but before he knew his feet were hitting the water.

The water felt like a brick on the underside of his arms and then his chin; two impacts that stung so severely he thought he’d been shot again. Thomas went under, under, under, surrounded by bluish-gray water. His body stopped falling and as soon as he could he thrashed his arms and legs. For an instant it seemed he did not move at all, as though he were stuck in jelly. Then his body responded and pushed against the gravity that sought to drown him. His lungs burned with each movement he made but miraculously his head broke the surface of the water and Thomas sucked in a mouthful of water and air at once.

Coughing and sputtering, he wiped furiously at his blurred eyes and looked around.

“James! James?”

Just as a new panic began to settle in him, a strong pair of hands grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and pulled him back into the shadow of the Scarborough just as the shadows of its men began to look overboard.

They swam up alongside the ship’s hull and grabbed on. Thomas struggled to catch his breath. More shouts and what sounded like complete chaos had enveloped Hume’s ship. James pointed above and to the right of them, at one of the launch boats.

“We need to climb up and cut her lines.”

Thomas eyed the boat, all the way at the top of the railing, and the precarious height from which he had just jumped.

“They’ll be sure to hear it drop. What if it lands upside down?”

James hesitated for the first time since their escape. It made Thomas nervous. He realized with a bit of a shock how much he relied on James, how much he had allowed himself to be seated within his world, trusting him and his choices almost without question. He needed that, needed James now and he said as much.

“I will do whatever you say, sink or swim,” Thomas said softly. He knew his voice would affect the other man. James turned to him. The hard determination returned.

“We must risk it. No other option. As long as we can get it cut without anyone seeing us we stand a fighting chance.”

He and James painstakingly climbed their way back up the Scarborough, using the ship’s natural design to aid them. Thomas found he was much more confident at climbing the side of a ship than he had been at falling from one.

The full alert of Hume’s entire ship was their biggest problem. Over and over again they had to pause and to climb back down again as Hume ordered a full search around the ship. Still, James told Thomas there were only a handful of men actually searching for them; the rest were attending to the fire in the hold. That much Thomas could discern as well from the shouts and orders being given. Evidently the fire had grown large enough to provide a much needed distraction.

Thomas shuddered to think how useless their plan would be if the entire ship were focused on them.

They eventually made it to the launch. Thomas's hands and wrists were burning with fatigue yet still he clung on. James quietly showed him how free his hands by gaining a foothold on the side of the ship, then leaning against the edge of the boat for support. They pulled out their swords and began cutting the thick ropes that held the boat in place, cutting just below the pulleys.

It was nerve-wracking work for Thomas, whose head was barely two feet below the deck. The constant running of boots and shouted orders set his teeth on edge, yet none seemed to be able to hear the sounds of sharp blades cutting through rope.

When James was cutting through the last rope he motioned for Thomas to back up. Thomas did so and James cut the final fray. The boat dropped between them. Thomas watched it with trepidation, certain that the sound of it hitting the water would be a siren call to his own discovery and death. It bounced off the hull once and hit the water with a loud splash.

“The fuck was that?”

The voice was angry and on edge. James looked up as a face leaned over the railing. The man wasn’t an officer, and Thomas had little time to discern anything more from him before James reached up and grabbed the man’s collar with a fist, stabbing him and using the saber to help pull him over the edge. He landed with a sickening thud on the launch, then slid limply into the water.

“Thomas. Come on.”

This time they climbed down. James moved like a spider down the hull and Thomas struggled to keep up. Once they were a few feet from the bottom they jumped again. The launch had indeed landed upside down. Together and with some effort they flipped it over. James once again urged them into the shadow of the Scarborough to stay out of sight. They pushed the boat from the water, clinging to its sides. Thomas glanced up to see they were heading towards the stern of the ship, whose overhang would no doubt conceal them from any prying eyes.

“We wait until nightfall to break away from her,” said James. “Then we head for Santa Ybel Island, off the coast of Florida.”

Thomas was too wired and exhausted at the same time to ask questions. He simply nodded. James urged him into the boat once they were in the Scarborough’s wake, then jumped in after him. Together they picked up oars and followed the mighty ship in secret.


	16. Chapter 16

James opened his eyes, squinting in the sudden yellow-orange light that flooded his senses. As soon as his mind starting working he shot upright, sitting in the launch. He was facing the stern of the Scarborough and the launch was right on her tail, thanks to an innovation of tying together his and Thomas's belts and managing to snag the makeshift item into a crevice and then wrapping that around a knob that jutted out from the ship’s design.

He cursed himself for dozing off, although he was somewhat relieved when he saw by the sun’s position it was still in the afternoon; he couldn’t have dozed more than an hour or so. Beside him Thomas still slept, but James's attention sharply changed to the mass amount of blood that had pooled around Thomas's feet. He did not immediately see a wound. Panic set in. He shook Thomas's arm.

“Thomas. Wake up. You’re bleeding. Thomas!”

Thomas awoke with a start, sucking in a breath. James was already searching his body, patting him down.

“You’re bleeding,” he said again, scarcely glancing up.

Thomas moaned, still heavy with sleep.

“Oh. It’s my leg, my calf, I think.”

James's hands roamed down to his legs and found the wound on his right calf. He inspected it and let out a sigh.

“I don’t see a bullet…”

“I think it’s just a flesh wound. It grazed me when we were running across the deck.”

James sighed again. His heart was beating loudly in his ears. The thought of Thomas bleeding to death here in the launch boat after what they had just escaped was almost enough to give him a panic attack. He ripped off part of his sleeve and used it to bind the wound. Blood quickly soaked through the light cloth. Frowning, he motioned for Thomas's sleeve and double wrapped his calf until less red soaked through.

When it was done James looked up to find those sapphire eyes gazing at him. Thomas looked rough. Dark circles hung under his eyes and he was too pale. If only he had been at his strongest when Hume had taken them, if only he hadn’t relied on the damn drink…

James had to remind himself how frightening and bizarre everything must seem to the lord who had lived so pampered a life, then had lived in an asylum. The asylum. Then Thomas had found him again. Briefly James tried to picture what it would have been like for Thomas to find his body lying in the corner of that slave house. Of course he would drink.

Above and ahead of them the Scarborough sliced through the water at what James figured to be roughly five knots, heading due west now. To his left he could just make out a great black stretch of solid land far on the horizon—Florida. The Scarborough would be there by nightfall. With weather and God permitting they would be able to break out of the ship’s wake and row to Santa Ybel without incident.

Feeling secure for the moment James sat down beside Thomas, who struggled up onto the flat plank that served as a seat.

“How do you feel?” asked James.

Thomas stretched his limbs, wincing. “A complex question, I’m afraid,” he mused. “Sore all over and a bit bruised here and there but otherwise I’m fine. Hungry and thirsty,” he added after a moment with a shrug. James nodded.

“This next stretch will be very difficult,” he admitted. “Depending on when we can sneak out of her shadow—and on the current—we may need to row as much as fifty miles before we reach the island.”

He watched Thomas’s Adam apple bob up and down as he digested the information.

“You have a map of this place, I take it.”

James nodded. “Yes. From several years ago. I kept detailed maps of all my travels. Last time I was nearby, Santa Ybel was inhabited only by a tribe of natives called the Calusa. Mostly peaceful, but they hate the Royal Navy and the Spanish in equal amounts. They should accept us on their land at the very least.”

“And then what?”

James blinked. The question caught him off guard. What then, indeed? Even his calculating mind hadn’t stayed that far ahead. The truth was he had no clue what to do once they were away from Nassau and the gold and the navy and everything else; this was new territory and the truth was he was scared of it.

“I don’t know,” he admitted with a frown. “I’m just trying to keep us away from danger. I want—“

He broke off and licked his lips, uncertain of what else he wanted to say. Thomas waited patiently as he always did when James struggled with himself.

“I want to make sure you are safe,” he continued. “Having you here with me, in this part of the world, is…bewildering at times.”

James looked out towards the tip of the New World, tongue fighting to match what was in his mind. He used to be better at this, was he not?

“I know,” Thomas replied. “It is difficult for me as well. Yet we are still agreed on the plan, yes?”

The question was filled with confidence but when James looked at him he recognized the uncertainty wavering on Thomas’s face. James bent forward and wrapped a hand around the side of Thomas’s neck and planted a chaste kiss on his dry and chapped lips.

“We are agreed,” he said as he pulled away. The unsure look on Thomas’s face faded, eyes smiling at him.

“Then we will figure the rest out as we go along. If we survive this,” he added with a sigh.

James shared his concern. They had no food and no water and were at the mercy of the sea and sun. All they could do know was wait and hope. For the first time in many years James allowed the uncertainty of the future drape over him like a thick canvas. There was no control to be had here, nothing but the sea’s control over them. He leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to embrace the uncomfortable feeling and pull it to him. He would protect Thomas. That was all that mattered.

He let the weight of that thought drape over him as well. Not control, not power, not even Nassau mattered in this moment. Only Thomas. And though he knew in his heart Thomas would grow angry if he ever spoke of the lengths he was willing to go to; to die for him, if necessary, James felt it all the same.

It was the least he would do, could do, after they had ripped Thomas away from him and after he had done nothing to save him.

He pushed away his darkest thoughts for lighter ones. They had been given a second chance. Time was returned to them, and if this was all the time they had and were fated to die at sea then James would die feeling as close to the old echo of joy he had known as James McGraw, because his second half sat beside him, and that was enough.

***

The day dragged on, listless and hot. As the sun passed over the Scarborough and shone on their boat it grew even hotter. They peeled off their shirts and soaked them in the sea water. Thomas wanted to keep his shirt over his head but James warned him that his fair skin could not take the brutality of the sun.

There was nothing for James to do except to continuously check on the belts attached to the back of the ship, which he did obsessively every thirty or so minutes. Truth be told, he was surprised that they had held this long; the belts were relatively new leather and that was probably the only reason they maintained themselves, pulled as taunt as they were. Still, if they did break James told Thomas to be prepared to jump onto the Scarborough once again and they would simply piggyback her until it was time to get off.

Words faded from both of them, however, as the day wore on and the heat became oppressive even to James, who was used to the balmy and sticky tropic air. Along with the lack of sleep and nourishment his mind grew addled. He worried doubly about Thomas, who stayed in a state of half consciousness. He had suffered the most during their stay in the hold.

James struggled not to doze off; afraid the belts would snap if he did. He dunked his shirt in the ocean again and twisted it over Thomas’s limp form. Thomas’s eyes fluttered and he groaned, mumbling out a thank you. His voice was parched. James swallowed thickly, feeling his own thirst grow. He glanced up at the sky and despaired; the sun had only just begun descending westward.

***

He had crawled underneath the wooden seats of the boat, where the brutality of the sun was lessened over his face. He had to drag Thomas into the same position beside him, his body weakened from heat and earlier trials. James made sure his head rested under the plank then he fell down beside him. The movement of the boat shifted in his mind; an illusion, but a powerful one nonetheless and he felt as though an invisible force were pulling him horizontally along a blanket of air. Thomas moaned.

“I am dizzy.”

“Keep your eyes closed.”

Thomas complied and they spoke no more. James kept an ear out for the constant sound of the belts creaking above his head, the way he usually listened to the ropes and pulleys of his man o’war. James remembered then when Thomas had asked about a name for the ship and had offered the suggestion of the Marcus Aurelius. Dully he wondered about his ship and crew and if Silver had made it back to Vane…if Vane had even waited. He hoped they found and attacked Captain Hume.

He imagined the Ranger and the man o’war blowing the damn Scarborough to bits with a double broadside attack, of Hume running and cowering under the screams of pirates, of him surrendering and finally he imagined the bastard being cut through. James would gladly kill him himself if he had the chance, but mostly he wanted to look Hume in the eyes, along with the late Peter Ashe and Admiral Hennessy and Alfred Hamilton and any other man who had ever rejected him. He wanted to breathe down their necks that they were the true monsters, whose views on love and compassion were so narrow as to be non-existent, that they were the ones who deserved a life of struggle and misery, not him. Not Thomas. Not Miranda.

A dim memory came to him then as he turned uncomfortably and tried to ignore the burning in his throat and Thomas’s groans beside him. It was of Miranda in better days, dressed in one of her breathtaking emerald green corsets and dress, her black hair shining and framing her face in flowing locks. How enraptured he’d been with her, and even more so when Thomas had given him his unspoken approval. He remembered the Hamilton bedroom all too well and the glorious nights and mornings spent in it with her, then between her and her husband. Then the bedroom shifted in his mind’s eye and turned into an explosion. The roar of cannon fire and smoke filled his ears and nostrils. James moaned and shook his head, trying to shake away the hallucination or waking dream or whatever the hell it was. It faded stubbornly. A single gunshot rang out and his mind flashed to Peter’s house in Charlestown and Miranda’s blood splattering his face…

James shot up, hitting his head so hard on the seat he saw stars.

“Fuck.”

When he opened his eyes the sky was lavender and the sun was a dim reddish globe on the horizon. He scooted down and away from the planks until he could properly sit up. He turned and shook Thomas, who looked all but comatose.

“Thomas, wake up.”

Thomas groaned, eyes reluctantly fluttering. James shook him again. He instinctively put his hand between Thomas’s head and the underside of the seat. Thomas’s forehead hit his hand.

“Ahh.”

Fully awake, Thomas struggled out from under the seats and sat up next to him. He looked around at the darkening sky and turned to James.

“It is nearly time?”

James nodded. They sat quietly for several minutes and listened to the sounds of the ship. Gradually James honed his senses to hear beyond the rush of the water under the hull and the creaks and groans, until he heard distant voices above them. The ship’s atmosphere was calm now, with its crew no doubt going about their normal duties. The fire had no doubt been dealt with. He did not hear the bellow of Hume. James strained to look out ahead of them. The land of Florida loomed much closer now; he could make out its jagged coast and a few distinct tree lines. More directly in their path were a series of very small islands; the keys. The Scarborough was much too large to navigate through them and James knew Hume would soon turn north in order to avoid them and come up on the east side of the coast, headed towards Boston.

They needed to be out from under the Scarborough before that happened.

James did his best dead reckoning of their location and the distance to Santa Ybel. His mind still felt muddled and his stomach was roaring hungry but he forced himself to focus. After several minutes he told Thomas it would take them roughly half a day’s worth of rowing in the launch to reach the island. The brief flash of surprise and fear that lit up Thomas’s features faded into a look of stoic determination.

“Very well,” he said with a nod.

James waited until he felt the massive ship begin to turn, just as he had predicted, on a more northerly course. As soon as the launch was realigned behind the stern and the open waters of the Gulf of New Spain were open to their left, James climbed up to the end of the launch and pulled out the saber. He cut the belts into and told Thomas to hold on. The sudden loss of momentum nearly stalled the launch, jerking both of them. Then it continued on in the wake of the Scarborough. James sat down and took up a set of oars and halted the boat. Then, ordering Thomas to lift a second set of oars, they rowed due west, hoping the lookout in the crow’s nest of the Scarborough did not have good night eyes. After several minutes had passed, it appeared he did not and James silently checked off another small victory in their favor.

“Do you think we will ever cross paths with Hume again?” asked Thomas, gazing out at the Royal Navy ship moving away from them.

James licked his parched lips. “For his sake I hope not. For my sake I hope not,” he added, feeling Thomas’s eyes on him. Thomas gifted him with a smile at that.

They rowed at a steady clip for the first couple of hours into the night, then began rowing in shifts. It slowed their progress to only have one set of oars in the water but their distance was simply too great.

They both knew James had the stronger muscles of the two of them, and he insisted in taking longer shifts and that Thomas save his strength. The rowing became monotonous and James felt his grasp on time and place shifting and slipping from under him in the pitch-black darkness as hour tumbled into hour.

By the time the sliver of a moon was high in the sky James’s arms burned like living fire, his chest heaving. Thomas begged him to stop.

“You are going to pass out. Let me take over.”

Finally James did, muttering about checking on Thomas’s calf wound while he rowed. James peeled back just enough of the cloth to see the flesh and winced. The dark blood had barely coagulated; the wound was still fresh-looking. Damn. The salt water was keeping it open.

“Quit fretting over that,” said Thomas, rowing in slow, long arcs.

“It’s keeping my mind off other things,” said James.

To that Thomas had no objection. James knew he must have been as hungry and thirsty as he was and as tired. How ironic, James thought, that their past was finally pushed away only because they had to focus on surviving the present. James re-wrapped the bandage. He sat across from Thomas, trying to remember if he knew of the Calusa’s medicinal treatment of small wounds. It was a trivial thing to ponder on, but it kept the blanket of uncertainty he had wrapped himself in from turning into a noose at his neck.

Thomas rowed until he was too exhausted and James bade him to rest. His own arms ached the moment he picked up the oars and he dreaded the next few hours. He focused on the man before him and forced his muscles to work. He’d be even more damned than he already was if he was going to allow Thomas to perish in a fucking boat.

It was sometime later when his strokes finally stilled. He’d gone long minutes between lifting the oars. Everything from his fingers to his shoulders tingled with numbness. His guts felt like they were devouring themselves for lack of food and his throat screamed for something wet.

There was a hand on his chest. Thomas was there. James realized he was keeping him from falling over.

“James, stay with me.”

James's head felt like a lead weight when he lifted it, eyes heavy.

“Stay with me,” Thomas said again. James saw his own delirium mirrored in the blue eyes in front of him. He grabbed the oars, leaning back, and forced them through the water.

***


	17. Chapter 17

***

He heard seagulls. They shrieked somewhere overhead, sometimes in short bursts and sometimes in longer calls. The sound was as familiar to him as coming home. It was part of coming home…but there were few gulls in London. The dreary summer and winter rains kept them away. In front of the Hamilton household it was always barking dogs that greeted James when he alighted from the carriage and happily set foot before the grand estate, the path that would take him home, because home was where his heart was. Where is heart had been…

…Bleeding all over the stone marble floor, over the sands of Nassau, over the deck of his ship…

His throat closed up and he rolled over on his side, choking and sputtering. It felt like all the grain and sand of the West Indies coated his throat and tongue. He finally caught a lungful of fresh air and sucked at it desperately, leading to more mouthfuls of it, until he could breathe again. He pushed himself up onto his palms. He was on wet sand.

He was on land. They were on land. Thomas lay beside him. They lay on the shoreline and beyond was the launch boat, its front end on just enough land to keep it from drifting back out to sea. James sat up, trying to clear his head. Did he remember landing the boat? He wasn’t certain; he’d performed the act so many times it was difficult to know. Regardless, they had made it. He crawled over to Thomas and shook him, urging him awake. Thomas woke slowly, moaning and his eyes fluttering open. Then he went through the same coughing and sputtering. James helped him up into a sitting position. Thomas moaned again, wincing. He was too pale. James saw the crimson from the corner of his eye and looked down. The sand around Thomas's foot was soaked with blood from his calf wound. Some of the bandage had survived the trip to shore but it was useless now. James made to rip more of his sleeve but found that he barely had the strength to do so. When he gritted his teeth and jerked harder on the cloth he became dizzy.

“Stop,” croaked out Thomas, a weak hand over his. “It doesn’t matter. We’ve…got to get…out of here.”

James understood his meaning through the muddled words. The sun was rising in the east and already the day was warm. They could not risk another long stretch in its hot rays. James grunted and struggled to his feet. He braced his legs and offered Thomas a hand. Thomas took it and nearly pulled James down with him. He was even weaker than James, and that at least got James's mind and body functioning on some level. He pulled Thomas to his feet, throwing Thomas's arm across his shoulders. The extra weight nearly toppled James but he stayed upright. Thomas's eyes fluttered open and closed. He favored his right leg, where the blood continued to dribble down his foot.

“Come on,” said James. His own arms still ached from rowing and they had to stop three times before they even made it to the edge of the island’s woods. James broke through the underbrush and into the cooler darkness that was there. Together they limped on, until Thomas begged him to stop. James did so, and with the loss of forward momentum came the loss of his ability to stand and they both collapsed in a heap.

“I must rest, just for a moment,” said Thomas, grabbing onto his calf in pain. James reached down and clamped his hand around it, trying to stop the blood flow.

“Don’t give up on me,” he said through clenched teeth, grabbing a fistful of Thomas's shirt and keeping him in a sitting position.

Thomas struggled to keep his eyes open. “I’m not. I just need…to rest…”

His voice faded away and James despaired again. He gently lowered Thomas to the ground and lay down beside him. There was nothing more he could do for his wound so he let it go and instead wrapped his arm around Thomas's chest and pulled him close. His voice was at Thomas's ear.

“Do you remember,” he said in a raw whisper, “the first time you kissed me?”

Thomas cleared his throat and answered weakly but clearly, “Of course.”

James smiled, eyes growing heavy. He needed to stay awake. He wanted to look at Thomas for as long as he possibly could before Fate finally separated them for the last time so he reached up and grazed Thomas's chin with his fingertips, the memory lighting up inside him as though he’d struck a match and could smell the tang of smoke:

Thomas’s tongue gently scraped against his teeth, his hand coming up to caress the soft skin on the side of his neck. The lieutenant became lost in the contact the instant he’d given Thomas consent, had bent his head ever so slightly to allow his friend’s lips to touch his own.

Now as the kiss lingered he finally had the wherewithal to pull back, breaking their embrace. All of this, he realized with a start, taking place in front of Thomas’s wife. He glanced over to Miranda as the color rose to his cheek, yet Lady Hamilton hardly appeared surprised, let alone shocked…

The memory dimmed as his addled mind struggled to maintain it. James swallowed to speak again. His hand had dropped from Thomas's chin but Thomas held his gaze. Bits and pieces came back to him:

Nervous. Shame. “She’ll be all right…” and “I don’t even know if I’m all right. I don’t know what’s going on...” and

“What are you doing to me?” Breathless whisper.

He had his hand on the side of the lieutenant’s neck again, thumb rubbing his jaw line. He pulled Thomas’s palm to his lips and kissed it.

“All right,” he agreed.

Joy. Love.

Again, the memory dimmed. He felt Thomas squeeze his arm.

“I’ve always wondered what you were thinking in that moment,” James continued. “What was it that caused you to act so boldly, to believe that I would accept you in that moment.”

“I’ve told you before,” replied Thomas, eyes closed. His body was limp against James. James pressed himself even closer to him.

“Thomas,” he said, despair seeping at last into his voice. “Tell me again.”

A ripe pause. Then, “It was always in your eyes. They way you looked …after you told me I was a good man. I had…seen you look at me before in that way. It wasn’t until…you said those words that I realized…realized the meaning behind them. And I was sold. You bought my love with those eyes. And those words…”

Thomas's voice faded again and this time James did not have the strength to shake him hard enough.

\----------------------------

When he came back into consciousness, Thomas stood over him with an outstretched hand, concern etched onto his face. Behind him stood a large gathering of animal skin-clad, dark-haired native men and women. They stared blankly down at him. Wide awake now, he allowed Thomas to pull him to his feet. His head reeled and his legs ached but he automatically placed himself between Thomas and the cluster of natives, arms and legs braced for action. A few of the male natives who stood closest to them tensed, spears in hand and at the ready. Thomas gently urged him to relax.

“It’s all right. They helped me,” he said. Thomas pointed down to his calf, where James saw a fresh wrapping of soft leather now covered the ugly wound. The bleeding had stopped. James let his stance drop. His eyes flicked from Thomas back to the still wary natives before them. Two men stepped out from the rest and nodded at James. James slowly nodded back.

“This one knows English,” said Thomas, nodding at the younger of the two men. He carried a staff of sorts with him. He nodded at Thomas and then addressed James in nearly flawless English.

“Good day, pirate.”

James nodded hesitantly. “Good day.”

***

The Calusa Indians had gradually accepted he and Thomas as friendly. They offered both of them clay bowls filled with water and refilled them three more times, as he and Thomas downed as much as they possibly could. Then one of the women had come forward with some type of bread loaf. Thomas had taken the time to profusely thank the woman while James wasted none in devouring the loaf, finally ordering Thomas to do the same before they passed out again.

The tribe had taken an immediate liking to Thomas, which did not surprise James in the least. Thomas had shown a similar ease with his own crew; he could be congenial with almost anyone if called upon.

As for himself, the Calusa needed more convincing.

James and the English-speaking native—named Tolgua—had spoken at length. Toluga had asked many questions. He had explained that the Calusa had no immediate problems with the two of them and were, in fact, appreciative of their shared dislike of the navy and their conquering nature. However, he was less convinced about James's own good nature and said that his people had been robbed by pirates in the past. James had done his best to assure Tolgua this would not happen. He had told him the truth as to why he and Thomas were no longer with James's crew, saying that they wished only to stay here for a while in peace.

It was as much as James himself knew about what the hell they were going to do.

Thomas had come up to Tolgua and had re-iterated the same story, which had finally convinced him. After a long meeting in which Tolgua and several other men from the tribe spoke back and forth in their native tongue, Tolgua informed him and Thomas that they were welcome to the island, provided they did not attempt to steal any of the tribe’s hard-won fish supplies for the week or any of their jewelry.

When all was said and done, the day had passed away and all that was left to decide on was where they would take shelter. James saw that Thomas's little-recovered strength was beginning to wane, as was his own. However, neither one of them were particularly eager about lodging with the natives, so Tolgua suggested a more primitive but also more private area.

He led them behind the village, towards the northern interior of the island. After a short journey through some underbrush and past a swampy area they came to where the rock formations of the island began to take over. There, nestled in a small clearing, was a waterfall that poured into a small pond. Tolgua led them up a relatively easy climb and to a cave that had formed behind the waterfall. Its mouth was very wide and James judged its depth to be roughly fifteen or so feet. The ground was surprisingly smooth and worn. Tolgua told them that his people often had used the cave in the past and that it was more comfortable than it looked.

He provided them with several blankets of thick and soft animal skins, as well as some cooked fish and oyster. As soon as he took their leave of them James offered half the food to Thomas and they ate as starving men, devouring all of it.

Afterwards James reached out a hand and took in a small mouthful of the falling water, cautiously testing it. Then he snatched up another mouthful and motioned for Thomas to do the same. They stood at the edge of the cave and drank their fill yet again. At last Thomas plopped down amongst the animal furs and let out a sigh.

“I feel better than I have in two damned weeks.”

James joined him, propping his back against the nearly smooth rocky wall.

“I as well. Now we can focus on what comes next.”

Thomas let out a soft laugh. “Honestly James, can we not just simply enjoy the moment? ‘And happiness is thought to depend on leisure; for we are busy that we may have leisure, and make war that we may live in peace.’”

Thomas was looking at him from the corner of his eye. Though James still saw fatigue there, there was also a smirk brightening his features for the first time in at least two weeks. James could not help but to smile at the words. He had not heard them uttered in a decade yet knew them like he knew the sea. He thought for a moment, then replied, “’What prompts us to action is desire; and desire has three forms--appetite, passion, wish.’”

“Oh very good,” said Thomas with another laugh. “I wonder if you can quote Marcus Aurelius as well as you can Aristotle…”

“No!” said James in mock fear. “Not now. My head will hurt too much from the effort.”

“A point I cannot argue,” said Thomas. James's smile turned rueful. They were both exhausted all over again, though at least James could eliminate thirst, hunger, and a headache off his list of ailments.

He settled down on their bed of skins as night fully overtook the island, Thomas behind him and against the wall. As soon as their conversation faded he snuggled up to James, dipping his hands under James's shirt simply to feel his skin there. James let out a contented sigh and turned his head to plant a chaste kiss on Thomas's lips. He soon fell asleep, and for once he did so without a single important thought in his head, save for that of Aristotle and desire and the man beside him.

\---------------------------------------

They started building the house themselves.

James had gained much carpentry experience building the house Miranda had resided in, and though it had been years since he’d applied his skills he and Thomas set about making detailed plans for another, similar house in the northerly clearing of Santa Ybel.

He drew up blueprints, calling upon his mapmaking skills, along with Thomas’s input, to design a medium-sized, colonial abode. Thomas kept getting carried away with the design and James was constantly reminding him they were not building a London estate, to which Thomas replied with a chuckle and apology.

The actual building proved tedious and cumbersome at first. It took several weeks for James to find and then cut the right lumber and then to craft it into the required lengths and dimensions. The Calusa had provided him with a mixture of their own primitive tools, along with various carpentry tools they had acquired from European ships as part of trade.

Thomas was eager to help him, laughing when James at first tried to do everything himself.

“You are building a house, James, not a chair. You would be lucky to finish in a year,” he’d said. James had conceded that point, but even with the two of them it was long and tedious work. Thomas had to be shown what to do, slowing them down further.

By the time they had finally gotten as far as the house’s foundation together the tribe of Calusa had gotten wind of what they were about. Tolgua had sent a handful of the tribe’s own craftsman to aid them—after Thomas had promised him they were not planning on inviting a crew of pirates inland with them, nor were they planning to use the building as a storage unit for stolen fish.

By the time midwinter had arrived to the island the building was nearly complete. Both he and Thomas had marveled at how the Calusa had been able to follow James’s instructions, studying his drawings and then creating them. Carpentry, it seemed, had its own universal language.

On the day the last bit of roofing was complete they headed over to the Calusa’s village and shared a meal with them, showing their appreciation for the craftsmen’s help.

“Tolgua and elders of the tribe give thanks back,” Tolgua had told them. “For being honest men and for sharing your news of the white man’s world.”

In addition to building the house, he and Thomas had also spent the last few months informing Tolgua and the elders of the tribe about the goings-on of the Royal Navy, the capture of Nassau’s trade boss, and efforts by the pirates to halt England’s reach in the West Indies. The Calusa were grateful for such news, because, as Toglua explained, the navy had already waged battles against brother tribes across the sea.

“The English will never stop their search to conquer land,” James had heard Thomas explain to Tolgua.

Tolgua asked why, if the English people had their own land to live on in England, did they need land so far away from their island? Thomas had thrown James a look then and a grim smile.

“They believe it is their right to own land,” said Thomas at length. “In England, there is a king, a ruler over all the people. He believes this right comes from God.”

Tolgua had scoffed at the notion of God. He told Thomas he had discussed God with other white men before.

“The English believe an invisible man in the sky tells them to take land away from other people. This is silly.”

James had politely interjected at this point. He could tell Thomas was warming to the discussion. He knew Thomas had plenty to tell Tolgua about notions of God and how men interpreted his Word.

“I’ll see you at the house,” said James. Then, eyes flashing, he added, “We will need to christen it.”

He had peeked over his shoulder after his last comment to see Thomas staring after him with an impish grin on his face.

***

The house was still barely a house, with just four walls and a roof. While Thomas was still off speaking to Tolgua James took the time to lay out the animal skin blankets and rugs in what would be the corner bedroom. Thomas had built a work table—his first—which James also placed in the corner up against the walls. It was made of pinewood and sturdy enough to sit on, which fit into his plans for the evening nicely. He threw a soft deer skin over it, fur side down.

He then lit several candles throughout the house to rid it of the island’s dusk-time gloom. The interior brightened up rather nicely, giving the wood a soft yellow glow.

He felt foolish, primping up the house as though he were going to receive important guests. A shadow of his former life wrapped around him for a moment. He looked around the house and imagined a mixture of décor from both the Hamilton household and from his old house, transforming the bare rooms into something worn but welcoming, with shelves of books lining one wall. A glimmer of hope burned in his breast again, that perhaps it could be so again.

By the time Thomas arrived it was dark and the house was lit like a beacon. James couldn’t hide his grin when Thomas opened the door, eyes going wide at all the candles.

“I thought for a moment I was walking into a hallucination,” he quipped, looking around. James said nothing but kept grinning, leaning against the lone table. He watched Thomas drink it all in—the blankets, the table, and James, who was wearing only his breeches and a loose-fitting black shirt.

“Come here,” James said softly.

Thomas took off his boots at the door and obliged him. James gave him a quick kiss.

“Dare I ask what you and Tolgua discussed after I left?” he asked.

Thomas chortled. “We ended up agreeing on many points, as you can imagine. But what was most interesting was his monologue the Calusa’s beliefs.”

Thomas lifted himself up to sit beside James on the table, legs dangling.

“Would you mind hearing it?” he asked.

James nodded. “Tell me.”

“The Calusa believe that people have three souls, and that these souls migrate to animals after death. The most powerful of these souls governs the physical world, the second most powerful rules human governments, and the last soul aids in wars, choosing which side would win.

The Calusa believe that the three souls are the pupil of a person's eye, his shadow, and his reflection. The soul in the eye's pupil stays with the body after death, and the Calusa would consult with that soul at the graveside. The other two souls leave the body after death and enter into an animal. If a Calusa killed such an animal, the soul would then migrate to a lesser animal. If that animal were killed, the soul would move into an even lesser animal and eventually be reduced to nothing.”

James digested this for a moment.

“Did we not read about similar beliefs among people in India?” he asked.

Thomas nodded. “Yes. I remember the volume too. It was in my study.”

“Mmm. Lots of things happened in your study.”

“Yes. Lots of reading and writing and idea sharing and—“

“And?” asked James, raising his eyebrows.

Thomas’s eyes danced in the candlelight. “You are of a singular mind tonight, I see.”

“My mind is always focused on you.”

James kissed him again but before he could pull away Thomas caught his jaw with his fingers and held him there, their lips pressed together. James leaned into it; pressing his tongue inside Thomas’s greeting mouth. Thomas clasped the side of James’s neck, fingers grazing along his earlobe. He ran a hand along James’s hair and made an “mmm” noise. He pulled away from James’s lips.

“I can almost grab onto this again,” he said, fingers sifting through the red hair with pleasure.

James bent and kissed his throat. “You want it long again?”

“I want it longer than it is,” said Thomas.

“Then I will grow it out again.”

James planted heavier, wetter kisses on his throat, gently nipping along Thomas’s Adam’s apple. He trailed his lips up to Thomas’s ear and licked and sucked there. Thomas moaned softly, pressing his fingers against James’s scalp in encouragement.

James moved to Thomas’s other ear and did the same, until he knew Thomas would have a small bruise there. Then Thomas eagerly captured James’s lips with his own again and their kisses were like wildfire to James, hot and heavy.

Thomas let his hand wonder away from James’s face and hair and tugged at the bottom of his shirt. James quickly pulled it over his head and discarded it onto the floor. Thomas looked down at his broad, muscular form. His skin was tanned and rough-looking but still soft to the touch around his scars. He seemed to glow burnt orange in the candlelight.

“Beautiful,” said Thomas.

“Not nearly as you are,” replied James, gazing into those sapphire eyes longingly before Thomas pressed their lips together again. They were taking their time, James realized with glee, as he had hoped. There was no rush here, no need to do the deed and be done, no danger of being discovered by prying eyes. No judgment but their own.

Thomas pushed his thumb inside James’s mouth with some force. James sucked on it, feeling his heart skip a beat and his groin harden. Thomas watched his mouth dance around his thumb and James felt the keenest sense of erotica he had not experienced in years. His tongue darted out and over the thumb, then his lips pulled at its end, simulating the actual act. He watched Thomas’s eyes grow heavy with desire, lips parted.

His hand rubbed at James’s crotch through his light breeches and he moaned at what he found there. They kissed again, with Thomas very deliberately taking his time in unfastening James’s breeches. James moaned, moving his hips forward when Thomas’s warm skin finally took hold of his cock and pulled it out. Thomas broke away from their kissing to look down at it. James planted lighter kisses on his forehead, moaning again as Thomas pulled on his shaft, letting his grip linger over the head.

Thomas then left the table and dropped to his knees on the animal skins. James’s groin was pleasantly aching but he put a hand on Thomas’s shoulder.

“I don’t want it to end so soon,” he said.

“It will not. I’ll stop, I promise,” said Thomas. He waited, as always, for James’s consent. James nodded and Thomas took him down the next second. The feel of Thomas’s wet lips running over his cock caused his breath to hitch in his throat. Thomas took him down all the way to his scrotum the first time.

“Uh-hunhh,” was the only thing James could say. Thomas pulled back slowly and measurably, letting his tongue work its way here and there over his shaft. He licked at the tip of his cock. James gripped the short yellow hair of Thomas’s head, his other hand gripping the edge of the table, white-knuckled.

Thomas then licked the underside of his shaft and sucked on his scrotum. James felt his heart rate rise, sweat breaking out on his face. He let Thomas work him a few more times before he pushed against Thomas’s shoulder.

“Stop.” His voice came out in a stammer. Thomas grinned up at him, his lips red and swollen. He rose off his knees and James slid off the table and pulled Thomas to him roughly, attacking his lips once more and finding Thomas to be just as eager. James reached down between them and pulled on Thomas’s own erection, which was pleasantly rock-hard.

“I want you,” James whispered into his ear. “I want you like I’ve never wanted anything else, like I want the very air I breathe.”

He heard Thomas’s breath catch. He placed his palms against James’s chest and squeezed.

“Then take me,” he said. He glanced up at the table behind them, eyes nearly black. “Here?”

James nodded. Thomas took off his shirt and breeches and sat on the table, close to the wall. He spread his legs and let his rump just touch the table’s edge. James slid up to him. The table’s height was perfect for this. Thomas kissed him, grabbing James’s ass and squeezing. James grinned. He was still slick and wet from Thomas’s mouth but still he was prepared; he picked up the vial he had set at one of the table’s legs and applied it to his cock.

“Always the gentleman,” said Thomas. James gave him a lop-sided grin, gray-green eyes flashing to meet Thomas’s. Then he took hold of his cock and positioned himself. Thomas leaned back slightly then watched as he plunged inside him, breath coming out in a stutter. He leaned back on the table, palm flat against its surface, to expose more of himself for James. James shifted himself and thrusted inside Thomas. Thomas bucked up just slightly off the table, eyes closing and lips parting as a look of pure pleasure coated his face. James thrusted again, working into a rhythm. He leaned forward and Thomas shuffled slightly over the table until they could kiss one another. James took hold of Thomas’s leg and very carefully lifted it so that his ankle rested against James’s shoulder. It opened Thomas even wider and he gasped as James thrust into him.

James worked him at a steady pace, pausing his thrusts every now and then to gauge Thomas's response and to savor the look of bliss on his face. Evidently he was doing this too often, because Thomas let out a breathless laugh.

“What is it, darling?”

James met his eyes. “I’m sorry. I just want to remember this, remember you in such a state.”

Thomas squeezed James's hips and leaned back again, giving James more freedom.

“I love you so much it hurts,” said Thomas, tilting his head back, then looking down at James's machinations.

James wished it could last forever. Finally they were as one again, mentally and physically. Their bodies worked together as well as any finely-tuned instrument, making a kind of physical music that was so exquisite to James he found himself in danger of weeping.

Thomas's grip on his shoulder alternated between lax and tight, depending on what James did to him. He glanced down to watch the rhythm between them, of how his cock rammed into Thomas, scrotum bobbing back and forth. He closed his eyes and inhaled the musky scent it created, feeling a sharp wave of heat course through him.

He opened his eyes to see Thomas jerking on himself, his movements becoming more frantic.

Through a haze of heat and scent of sex in the air, James took Thomas down to the rugs on the floor. Thomas lay on his back. James let go of his last grip of composure, thrusting hard and passionately into Thomas, who spread himself as far as he could and bucked up to meet James's thrusts with equal zest. As the heat built in James so too did that singular, overpowering need for closeness. He slid his arms across the soft fur and under Thomas, who arched his back slightly. James pulled and Thomas allowed himself to be lifted, grasping onto James's bulging upper arms, now slick with sweat. They faced one another, kisses desperate and sloppy as James focused everything on the task at hand, sending Thomas into ecstasy and then following him over the edge moments later.

***


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter, in which James comes to terms with Miranda's death, Thomas sweetly chastises the guilt out of him, and a familiar face returns to try and persuade James to fight for Nassau.

***

They didn’t speak until sometime later, choosing to bask in the afterglow of their lovemaking in comfortable silence. It was Thomas who finally spoke. Propped up on an elbow on the rugs he pursed his lips together.

“This is right,” he said.

James was surprised when nothing else followed, not his usual transition into a monologue.

“In what way?” James asked at length.

Thomas shrugged. “In every way possible. I’m only sorry we both had to suffer so much for it.”

James said nothing at first. He sighed and intertwined their fingers together, quickly becoming lost in thought. As usual, he struggled to put his thoughts into words, and after some time Thomas attempted to coax the thoughts out of him.

“What is on your mind?” he asked.

“I was just wondering if there was a reason for it all. If I should let myself believe in Fate and that it was all worth it because you’ve been returned to me.”

“And do you? Believe in Fate, I mean?”

Something hardened inside him when he thought to answer the question. He had not thought anything good about Fate for a long time.

“It was one of many beliefs that was destroyed for me,” he replied slowly, fixing his gaze on the bare wooden roof above them. “I have come to believe that people create their own Fate through their actions. That is not very Godly of me, is it?” he added darkly, turning to look at Thomas.

Thomas's gaze was anything but disapproving. “It’s not been a very Godly life for either of us.”

For some reason James suddenly thought of Miranda. He thought of Pastor Lambrick’s visits she had told him about, often with a smile and a crude jest at his expense. She made no attempt to hide the fact that the pastor had affection for her. When he had asked her if she held the same feelings for him, Miranda had shrugged and replied with “He believes himself to be a true man of God. Even if we were to indulge in one another, it would only ever be the one time. He’s the type who would feel ashamed.”

It had been all the explaining she had needed. He remembered the way she had looked at him when she’d said it, had used that word. James shared the recollection with Thomas.

“I don’t know if they were ever together or not,” James finished, the curiosity in his voice following on the heels of his grief. When Thomas did not respond he turned his head. Thomas, still on an elbow, was staring absently at the fur underneath them.

“Thomas?”

He looked up and away from James but not before James saw his own grief there, raw and fresh and filling his eyes with tears.

“I’m sorry,” James said quickly. “I should not have brought it up.”

“No,” said Thomas, letting out a slow sigh. “It’s all right. There’s no reason we should banish her from conversation. That’s the last thing I want to do. Tell me James, were the two of you ever happy there?”

Thomas looked at him in earnest, pain still in his gaze. James felt his chest tighten. He sat up, resting his arms over his bare knees. Thomas sat up beside him.

“It was well over a year, I think, before either of us could begin to live anything resembling a normal life, to begin to feel as though we had a life. I tried…”

He swallowed roughly as the tightness in his chest grew worse. Her death was still like a barely-sealed wound over his heart, and speaking about Miranda and their life in Nassau felt like walking over shards of broken glass.

“I tried to be there for her,” he said, trying to keep his voice from wavering. “I tried to comfort her Thomas, but I’m afraid my own grief was suffocating to us both. What intimacy we did share was mostly for her benefit, and after a while she knew it and I could see it in her eyes…”

He broke off, clenching his teeth together to keep from weeping and trying with all his might to turn his feelings into anger because it had gotten him this far and it was familiar and he knew how to use it…and it wasn’t working now.

“James.”

The single word was filled with heartache. He felt Thomas's hand on his back, lovingly moving to his ribs and resting at his waist as Thomas shifted close to him. He kept his eyes across the room, not trusting himself to look at Thomas just yet.

“Once, she even encouraged me to seek out someone, anyone…a crew member, one of the men who worked at the brothel. I hated that she knew she was not enough. Were we ever happy? There were brief moments, perhaps days, but mostly we lived like two ghosts, haunted by our own past. I was so fucking miserable and I was pulling her down with me. Yet somehow she still loved me, even though I didn’t deserve it.”

Thomas was right next to him, bare leg against bare leg. He wrapped his hand firmly around James's arm and James felt the heat of his gaze, forcing him to turn and meet it.

“Stop it,” said Thomas. “Stop speaking about yourself as though you are worthless. I won’t tolerate it anymore. She loved you because she loved you before, because deep down you were still the same man. And—”

“The things I’ve done, Thom—”

Thomas pushed an index finger firmly against his lips.

“And,” he continued in the same even tone, “You still loved her. Monsters do not love. Monsters take love away; they chew it up and spit it out in the name of petty things such as king and country and money and family titles.”

Thomas still had his finger over James's lips. He removed it. His blue eyes were burning with quiet indignation, and James remembered quite vividly how intimidating Thomas's gaze could be when it was directed at someone who had caught his wrath for whatever reason.

“Is that what you think of England now?” James asked with genuine curiosity. “Of the rest of the civilized world? Have you come to share my thirst for murder and mayhem?” He smirked at Thomas in an effort to lighten his thoughts.

Thomas smiled wanly back at him. He ran a hand through his hair. “I think all those who have wronged me and who I wished dead have already fallen prey to your murder and mayhem. Now there must be order to balance out the chaos.”

James snorted. “There is no order, not really. It’s only an illusion.”

“That may be true, but sometimes the illusion is what matters.”

And with that James finally ran out of words to spar with, even though he knew Thomas was not trying to argue with him; he only, as always, sought to make him think. James felt a sudden and sharp stab of lust for him and he twisted towards Thomas, pushing him back down to the rugs and leaning over him, a hand at either side of his head.

“I love you only for your rhetoric, Lord Hamilton,” he said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk upon his lips. Thomas laughed through his nose. His teeth clashed against James's as James bent down and kissed him.

\-----------------------------------------

5 months later

It was early when Thomas awoke. He rolled onto his back on the bed and stretched, then paused to enjoy the soft gray glow of pre-dawn coming in through the sheer curtains. It drenched the bedroom in its dim light. Beside him James stirred but didn’t seem to wake. Thomas rolled over again and allowed himself to study him, admiring how sensual James's back was, bare all the way down to his tailbone, where the sheets just managed to keep him decent. There were the scars, of course, but in an odd way Thomas had grown to love each and every one of them. He had to stop himself from reaching out and tracing them with his finger as he was oft to do when James was awake.

For now he simply gazed at the slumbering form, at the curve of James's ribs as they lowered to the dip in his thigh, all the way back up to his neck and the now thick, reddish hair that was just long enough for a tie again.

James sighed in his sleep, shifting his legs so that the sheet was pulled down further from his back, revealing his rump. Thomas felt his lips automatically curve upward. Opportunity screamed at him and he decided to take it. He gently rolled back over and to the small bedside table. He pulled open the drawer and picked up the vial of oil. After spreading it over his fingers he turned back to face James's unsuspecting backside. He scooted in close and bent forward to lay soft kisses on his neck.

James hummed in the back of his throat, a sleepy, contended sort of sound. Thomas kissed the curve of his neck, allowing his teeth to ever so lightly scrape against the skin there. James hummed again and this time Thomas knew he was awake.

He ran his dry hand along the length of James's side. James involuntarily flinched when his hand reached the sensitive skin under his ribs. There was a sharp intake of breath. Still smiling to himself, Thomas's hand came to his rump, where he switched hands and reached his fingers down to James's cleft, planting stronger kisses along the back of his neck.

James wriggled next to him, letting out a moan when Thomas carefully eased the tips of two fingers inside him, slick with oil. James's shoulder flexed. His hand came up and behind him, grasping. Thomas guided his hand to his cheek, where James ran his hand languidly past it and through his hair. Their eyes still had not met and Thomas was enjoying this game far too much to quit for the usual foreplay.

He eased his fingers all the way up inside James, who moaned louder this time, backside squirming up against Thomas's pressure. Thomas opened and widened him, sucking at the skin on his neck and feeling a twinge of guilt at the bruises he knew would be left there. James had never enjoyed being left with lover’s marks, a fact Thomas occasionally chose to ignore, if only because James would always fix him with the most adorable, disapproving frown once he discovered he had been so marked.

James positively writhed against him now, though their dance was still slow and almost relaxing in the early morning hours. Thomas felt himself grow impatient, his cock straining against his belly as the heat built. And then, at last:

“Thomas.”

The single word, spoken so lovingly and with such vulnerability and lust that his cock ached. He removed his fingers and slid himself inside James, feeling his chest expand and then collapse as a sigh of pure pleasure came out of him when James tightened around him, bucking forward ever so slightly.

They worked themselves into a steady but languid rhythm, still on their sides. James crooked his leg, opening himself as much as he could. Thomas dipped his arm down and wrapped it around James's leg at his thigh and thrusted harder, feeling the heat within him coming to a searing boil. He came first, spilling himself inside James for what seemed like forever. James twisted and grabbed Thomas's hand and pushed it to his own cock, which Thomas worked until James spilled out over the sheets in front of him.

At last James rolled over to his back, facing him. He wore that mushy, nearly ridiculous smile that Thomas adored. Thomas bit his bottom lip to suppress his own grin. He rose up to kiss him. James hummed into his mouth, hands gripping Thomas's ass and squeezing in a haze of slowly fading heat.

Thomas opened his mouth to speak when a knock came from the front door, startling him back into silence. James sat up roughly.

“Who the hell…?”

A muffled voice followed the knocking. Thomas let out a sigh.

“It’s Tolgua.”

“The fucking sun isn’t even up yet,” James growled out, tossing off the sheets and pulling on his breeches. Thomas did the same, hoping that this interruption was for a very good reason. When they opened the door, Tolgua stood there with his spear in place of his staff, his eyes alert and full of concern. Other Calusa men idled behind him.

“There is a great ship in the harbor,” said Tolgua. “And a one-legged man named Silver who asks for you,” he finished, looking at James.

***

They threw on the rest of their clothes and Thomas all but ran out after James. How, Thomas asked, had Silver even found them?

“My maps,” James had growled out as they broke through the woods and onto the beach. “All of them were in my desk drawer on the man o’war. He must have been searching each island.”

“What on earth for?” asked Thomas, at a loss as to why James's old quartermaster would have gone through the trouble.

“Whatever it is, I’m certain I won’t like it,” said James. They rounded the curving shoreline of the beach, following after Tolgua. There, behind a dense cropping of rock and tree, there was indeed a mighty ship, anchored off the shore, but Thomas saw it was not the Spanish warship.

James stopped short, gawking at the ship. Thomas recognized the flash of familiarity that came across his face.

“What the fuck…?”

“What is it?” Thomas asked in earnest.

“It’s the Queen Anne’s Revenge,” replied James, starting off again towards the ship and to where a group of Calusa stood in a loose circle around another group of men.

Thomas blinked. He knew that ship name, knew it as most everyone in England knew it by now.

“That is Blackbeard’s ship?” he asked in disbelief. James didn’t reply. They reached the Calusa, who nodded and parted for them. The small group of men they had surrounded were from the ship, and there stood John Silver in front of them. He carried no crutch but instead stood solidly on an iron-forged peg leg. Thomas watched as he met James's gaze and nodded, then looked to Thomas and did the same.

“Perhaps before we discuss anything you might tell your friends here that we mean no harm,” said Silver, nodding at the Calusa. The other pirates with him all had their hands at their belts, ready to pull out arms and the Calusa all stood in stony silence with their spears ready. It was the same as when he and James had first arrived on the island and Thomas now recognized their wariness.

James glanced over to Thomas, who motioned for Toluga and said to him in a low voice, “These men are known to us and they wish your people no harm. They simply want to talk. They are not staying,” he added after a beat. Obviously he hadn’t a clue if what he spoke was completely true or not, but there was no other way. Luckily this seemed to appease Toluga, who yelled out a word and motioned for his men to follow him. They did not go far but it was far enough to give the pirates some room. Silver glanced behind him and the men relaxed.

“I won’t be long,” he said to them, leaving them with a launch boat as he followed him and James further down the beach. Once the three of them were alone Silver threw a questioning look to him. Thomas fixed him with a steady gaze. Silver then raised an eyebrow at James, who had tucked his thumbs under his belt and said simply, “He stays. Now what the fuck are you doing here?”

Thomas took a moment to look at Silver, who had changed in subtle yet obvious ways since last time he had laid eyes on the man. His black, curly hair was down past his shoulders now, and a thicker black beard covered his chin. He had a dark blue piece of cloth wrapped around tightly around his head, dark blue eyes sharp. Thomas digested all of this and turned it into words: Serious. And dangerous.

Then the effect dissolved when Silver let loose a grin at James. The smile broadened when he fixated on James's neck, and Thomas frowned. He had left a mark there.

“Well,” said Silver. “While you and Mr. Hamilton have apparently been buggering each other into bliss on this little island, some of us have been working hard to reclaim what is ours.”

It was hardly a revelation to any of them that Silver had figured the two of them out, yet even so Thomas half expected James to reach out and grab him by the throat. Silver must have thought the same because he backed up a tiny step. Instead, James simply huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Get to it.”

Silver licked his lips and glanced back at the Queen Anne.

“Suffice it to say much has happened since we lost you at Harbor Island. We returned to New Providence and re-joined with Vane. We engaged Captain Horingold and Dufresne. Dufresne is dead, but afterwards Hornigold evaded us and left the harbor. The reason he did so was the timely approach of a particular ship and her captain,” he said, eyes once again flashing to the Queen Anne.

“Teach,” said James.

Silver nodded. “And he came bearing gifts—a one Ms. Guthrie, having been taken from one of Hume’s fleet ships Teach had intersected on his way back to Nassau.”

“She’s alive, then?”

“Alive and with Vane on board the Ranger now.”

“And Nassau?”

“Crawling with the British navy, but without any leader, since Hume and the Scarborough can do little more than circle around like vultures from a distance. We have your man o’war to thank for that.”

“Mr. Silver,” said Thomas as soon as he could. “As interesting as this is—and believe me when I tell you it is—I have no doubt you wish to include James in whatever point it is you’re coming to, so perhaps you could hurry up and get to it?”

Silver’s eyes flashed at him. “How I’ve missed our little discussions, Thomas.”

He turned back to James and quickly continued. “I’m here because, simply put, we need you. Nassau needs you.”

James huffed again but before he could protest Silver held up a hand.

“Look, just give me another moment to finish explaining. We have almost everything we need to re-take the island. We’ve managed to protect the Walrus and the gold thus far, as well and rid her of both Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny.”

James raised his eyes. “You’ve re-taken the gold?”

“Not quite. But we do have the next best thing. Look.”

He pulled a spyglass from inside his coat and handed it to James, who raised it towards the Queen Anne’s Revenge.

“The little bastard,” he said, jaw tight.

“What?” asked Thomas. James handed him the scope. Thomas peered through it, eyes searching the deck of the ship and landing on two figures that stood at the railing. One was a lean-looking man with a tricorn hat and the other a woman, dressed as a man and with a broad-brimmed hat. They were both gagged at the mouth and their wrists were bound. The man lifted his hands up and waved at him, while the woman lifted her middle finger.

“Charming, isn’t she?” said Silver, who could see the gesture from a distance.

“You have Rackham and Bonny on Blackbeard’s ship. Why?” asked James.

“Because it was the only ship not damaged in the skirmish against Hornigold, and because Teach is in Nassau this very moment, pretending to negotiate with one of Hume’s lieutenants.”

“Why would he—“

“Because he is stalling, waiting for me to return with you; waiting for us to track down Hume and blowing the living hell out of him, to take back Nassau.”

Silver spoke his words with same passion and tenacity Thomas recognized in himself; a quality that could move even the most stubborn man into at least considering his proposal, and one look at James told him that was exactly what James was doing.

He realized that now was as good a time as any to tell James what had been on his mind of late; the thing that had been nipping and gnawing at him ever since they had settled down here.

“Mr. Silver, will you excuse us for a moment?”

Silver nodded and gave a half bow while Thomas pulled James away.

“James, this presents me with an opportunity to tell you something I’ve wanted to voice for a while.”

James's sea green eyes searched his. Thomas saw the flicker of fear just underneath the surface. Thomas would put it to rest—he hoped.

“I’ve seen the way you gaze out at the sea. I know you’re thinking about it, about being out there again. You miss it.”

The fear flickered into a shadow. “Thomas, I would never leave you—“

“No,” he said softly, cutting him off. “I know that. Not what I meant. I only mean that…”

He trailed off, finding a rare occasion in which his tongue was twisted. He took a deep breath and began again.

“I too have wondered about the outside world, about Nassau. Just because we’ve built something here does not mean we must stay here forever. I don’t expect you to give up on the sea or even on Nassau. In a way Silver is right—all we’ve done since we’ve arrived here is to be wound up in one another, with no real purpose.”

The shadow of fear did not quite go away. James reached out and took his hand, looking down at it.

“I don’t want you to think you have to sacrifice your happiness for mine,” he said softly, sounding wounded. “I won’t let you become what I am.”

“And what is that?”

“A pirate. A killer. I won’t, Thomas. If we go with Silver, you’ll be sucked into that world.”

“I’m already branded a criminal. This part of the world is my home as much as it is yours,” replied Thomas. “And I know you think of Nassau as more than a home; you think of it as yours. You needn’t say it.”

At this James looked up at him with genuine surprise. Thomas gave him a weak smile.

“I thought so. I don’t intend on becoming a pirate, James, just as I’m sure you didn’t intend on spending the rest of your days doing nothing but hunting, talking to natives, and bedding me, as appealing as that scenario may sound.”

James let out a sigh and turned away from him and to the sea, hands on his hips.

“You would want to go, then?” he asked at length, turning back around. “You would want to join Silver and actually attempt this mad plan of his?”

“As I said, this place is my home now. Neither one of us ever had a chance to fight for our home in London.”

“It was not my home, Thomas.”

“James.”

Thomas didn’t hide the reproach in his voice. He saw that James knew the lie in his words as soon as he’d spoken them. The old pain was there again, though for some reason Thomas felt its sting just as keenly this time. He put a hand on James's arm.

“I would like to help you fight for this,” he said. “I think it’s worth it, don’t you?”

James hesitated, then said, “Back in London, when Miranda was urging me not to go to the sea lords with our proposal, I told her that anything that has ever been worth doing is worth doing in the face of a little danger.”

He looked at Thomas through his brows and smiled, eyes dancing. Thomas felt his heart skip a beat. It was the first time James had shared a memory without it bruising him. Instead, he’d turned into something positive.

“Very well then,” Thomas said, calm as ever.

They returned to Silver, who was squatting just beyond the tide’s reach, gazing out at the horizon. He rose to meet them.

“We’ll come,” said James. “Under a few conditions.”

“Such as?”

“I’m captain of the Queen Anne until I get my ships back. You will be quartermaster again.”

“Ships, as in more than one?”

“The Walrus is still my ship. As is the man o’war, which I’ve given a name to.”

James paused and looked at Thomas, eyes bright. He looked back at Silver and said, “The Marcus Aurelius.”

Thomas beamed silently at him while Silver looked dumbfounded.

“You realize most of the men won’t even be able to pronounce that?”

James shrugged. “I’m not naming it for them. And secondly,” he continued smoothly, “Thomas is to be re-introduced as an old ally of mine from the Virginia colony, whose purpose is aligned with ours in re-taking Nassau. He is to be treated equally as a crew member.”

James turned to Thomas.

“That means you’ll share in ship duties…”

Thomas nodded without hesitation. “I’ll do whatever is required of me.”

James nodded.

“Um, excuse me,” Silver chimed. “About the question of captaincy…”

“It’s not a question,” James snapped.

Delicately, Silver smiled. “It is, actually. You see, Teach left me in charge of his ship, and the crew is quite…comfortable with me as captain until he returns to it.”

There was that dangerous element to Silver’s eyes again as he spoke but also something Thomas could only call respect there. The two men looked at one another for a long beat. Then James looked the younger man up and down, taking in what Thomas had—the hair, the beard, the look in his eyes.

“You’ve become a bloody pirate at last,” he growled under his breath. This time Silver did not smile impishly but instead nodded as though it were a compliment. James seemed to take that in, as well.

“Very well,” he said at last. “You are captain of the Queen Anne until it is returned to Teach.” He offered Silver his hand. Silver took it and they shook. James pulled on Silver’s hand, pulling the other man towards him so that their faces were close. His next words surprised even Thomas and they certainly shocked Silver.

“I’m glad you decided not to help Rackham take the gold. A terrible mistake you would have no doubt come to regret. Now let’s see if you can’t keep your honesty and see us all succeed in this.”

Silver openly gaped at James, mouth struggling to form words. James waited patiently, slowly releasing his grip on Silver’s hand. Silver recovered himself, closing his mouth and standing straighter, though he gave James an apologetic look.

“You would have tracked me down and killed me, I know,” he said. “It’s as you said before,” he said, voice growing soft. “Charlestown changed things.”

Thomas didn’t understand what passed between them then, but it seemed to be all Silver needed to say because James only nodded, meeting his gaze.

“When will you be ready?” Silver asked.

James turned to Thomas with the question. Thomas thought for a moment.

“I don’t see any reason we couldn’t leave tomorrow.”

James turned back to Silver.

“Tomorrow.”

Silver nodded. “I’ll tell the men.”

And he took off, the iron peg of his right leg scarcely impeding his gait.

“John.”

Silver paused and turned around. Thomas watched as James bent down and dug his fingers into his right boot. He pulled out something small. Silver walked a few paces towards him. James held the object between his index and thumb and showed it to Thomas. Thomas recognized it.

“I’ll be damned,” he murmured. “Is it the same coin?”

“It is.”

James held the gold escudo Admiral Hennessy had given him all those years ago, the same coin that was said to be a replica of de Mendoza’s treasure. He tossed it to Silver, who caught it and looked at it, then looked at James. James simply shrugged. Silver gave him an odd grin, tucking the coin inside a breast pocket and then turning back towards the launch boat.

Thomas looked at him, mouth slightly hung open in disbelief.

“How long have you had that in your boot?” he asked.

“The last eleven years,” said James casually. “I cut a slit in the leather, just below the cuff. The most secure place for it.”

Thomas laughed out loud at him.

“And you decide to randomly toss it off to Silver?”

James looked at him pointedly. “It was weighing me down.”

Thomas grinned. “You’ve become a philosopher at last.”

“Come on,” said James, lips twitching upward. “We’ve got to start packing.”

Together they walked along the beach, both excited but neither hurrying. The sun finally broke through the treetops in the east; a large yellow ball that cast a blue-pink glow in the sky as a new day dawned.

Thomas greeted the morning with hope as he had not felt in years.

James greeted it much the same. He imagined, briefly, the sun’s rays obliterating all the shadows and cobwebs and ghosts that had stayed crowded around him for so long, of the constant tangle of emotions that sat in his gut dissolving into nothingness. He imagined, as they crossed back into the woods, this day was a day of firsts for him; he would be like a snake that shed its old skin in place of a newer, better skin.

The snake was still a snake, but it could change. He could change. He would struggle always, but he would persevere.

By the time they had reached the house James felt something new swell in his chest. He would have Nassau again, but this time he would also have Thomas by his side. Time could be cruel, but Time could also be forgiving. He would have everything he had ever wanted, that they had ever reached for.

He entered the house, head buzzing and heart swelling. He would have it all, to be sure…even as he knew he would have to fight to keep it.

Let them come, he thought. Let them try to take it away from me now.

He would fight to keep Nassau; he would fight to keep Thomas, just as he knew Thomas would fight to keep him. It was as though he felt the world shift under his feet; the stars in the sky had re-aligned themselves to form something as close to perfection as he could have ever hoped for, ever dared to dream about and all the guilt and shame were stripped away. And that was how it should be, he thought at last.***

End.

 

Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls;  
the most massive characters are seared with scars.  
\--Khalil Gibran

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Well I hope everyone who stuck around for the end of this marathon enjoyed it. And I just realized, re-reading the ending for the first time in a while, that bit about the world shifting beneath James's feet? Gave me chills because I wrote this before season 3 ever aired and he said that to Silver. :) I do have a sequel to this; may or may not post it right away. Thanks again! <3
> 
> For more Sails come visist me on tumblr at iwtv2007.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always appreciated!


End file.
